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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676722">Rain or Shine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22'>dracoqueen22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Perfect Storm [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM themes, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mechpreg, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest, non-graphic birth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>55,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676722</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With another mechlet on the way, business at the bar waning, and a new Anti-Decepticon movement gaining steam, Blurr wonders if he’s ever going to get any rest. His relationship with Ricochet is put to the test when another storm rumbles on the horizon, threatening to tear them apart, this time for good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bluestreak/Jazz, Blurr/Jazz/Ricochet (Transformers), Blurr/Ricochet (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Jazz/Ricochet (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Perfect Storm [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReignitedN7/gifts">ReignitedN7</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were too many empty tables in his bar.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr plastered a fake customer service smile on his face, but inside, he frowned. It was peak happy hour, post-second shift, and over half his tables were unoccupied and his bar had only one stool with an occupant.<br/>
<br/>
"A bit quiet in here tonight, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
Blurr swallowed a sigh and picked up a pitcher, wandering to the lone occupied stool near the end of the counter. "Quiet's not a bad thing," he said as he topped off Quicken's glass, the bright and cheerful drink splashing up to the brim. "Can I get you anything else?"<br/>
<br/>
"A date," Quicken said with a flash of denta in a wide grin. He braced his elbow on his chin, leaning in closer across the counter.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr subtly slid a step back. "I'm bonded, remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but a mech can dream," Quicken purred. His lips curved in a wider grin he probably thought was alluring. And perhaps, to anyone else, it would be. Quicken wasn’t bad looking, with his gray and red armor, slim lines, and broad shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr, however, was happily spoken for, and in comparison to Ricochet, Quicken held no appeal.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, if you want to dream about something that's impossible, I can't stop you." Blurr saluted him with the pitcher. "Let me know if you need more."<br/>
<br/>
He didn't run away. He was too professional for that. But he did ease into a retreat. He cast a gaze around the bar, saw Tall Tankor was running low on his brew, and decided to make a delivery. It wasn't as if he had much else to do.<br/>
<br/>
Business was suffering and only luck managed to land Blurr at a spot in the queue where he was finally able to renovate the apartment above New Maccadams to make it a livable home for he and his family. Cybertron's economy was achingly slow to recover, and well, it didn't help that his bouncer kept throwing out customers for looking at Blurr funny. Or that his bouncer was a notorious former Decepticon who didn't even try to play nice.<br/>
<br/>
'I can throw him out for you.'<br/>
<br/>
Blurr sighed and glanced askance at the door, where Ricochet grinned back at him, noticing the look. 'He's a paying customer, which if you haven’t noticed, we’re running short on. Leave him alone.'<br/>
<br/>
'I don't like the way he looks at you.'<br/>
<br/>
'If it were up to you, I'd never leave the house so no one could look at me ever.'<br/>
<br/>
'Mm. Now there's a thought. I could tie you to the berth, and then you'd always be right where I want you.'<br/>
<br/>
Blurr shot a glare across the room. 'You should be working, not fantasizing about things that are never going to happen.'<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled into the comm, but didn't respond. The heat of his gaze, however, never left Blurr. It was almost tangible, like a physical touch to his armor. It was a relief to know Blurr was still attractive to him, even with the... extra weight he now carried.<br/>
<br/>
Because yes. Blurr was sparked.<br/>
<br/>
Again.<br/>
<br/>
Granted, this time was on purpose. Echo should have a sibling, according to Ricochet, and there were so few sparklings on Cybertron as it was. He really didn't have anyone to play with. Plus, they had the room now. And--<br/>
<br/>
And Blurr didn't need to keep convincing himself of something he'd already agreed to do, and had already done. He didn't know why he felt the need to justify getting sparked. Especially to himself.<br/>
<br/>
He swept up Tall Tankor's empty and replaced it with a full.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Blurr. This'll be it for tonight," Tankor said as he considered his hand, discarded two cards, and pulled two from the deck.<br/>
<br/>
"You sure?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Got an early shift." Tankor smirked and laid out his cards. "Look at that. A flush."<br/>
<br/>
Groans echoed around the table, mechs throwing down their cards with disgust, chugging their brews, a couple asking for refills.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr busied himself by tending to them, tucking a few tips into his pocket, deftly avoiding a mech with a death wish who tried to grope him, perhaps heedless of the former Decepticon assassin staring with laser optics at the back of his head.<br/>
<br/>
"Not cool, Cork. Not cool," one of the other mechs said to the orange and white one with the wandering hand. "Liable to lose that hand if you don't stop it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's an age-old tradition, groping the waitstaff," said Cork, obviously three sheets to the wind. Blurr made a mental note to cut him off.<br/>
<br/>
"Next time, you'll lose an optic," Blurr threatened. "And that try right there is a twenty percent surcharge." He flashed a grin and swept away from the table while Cork groaned, and his fellow players mocked him.<br/>
<br/>
All was fair.<br/>
<br/>
"And you better not skimp on the tip either," Tall Tankor said. "Or I'll break your finger, too."<br/>
<br/>
Cork sank down in his chair.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr returned to the bar feeling vindicated. He refused to look at Ricochet, who was probably already devising ways to toss Cork out on his aft.<br/>
<br/>
"You ever think about closing this place?"<br/>
<br/>
Blurr dumped the dirties into the sink and turned back toward Quicken. "Why would I do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"So you can start racing again. I mean, I can't believe this is really what you want." Quicken gestured all around him. "You were a star, Blurr. Don't you miss it?"<br/>
<br/>
"We've had this conversation before." Blurr turned on the tap, running the solvent to hot before he started to clean and disinfect the dirties before he set them out to dry. "That was a long time ago, before the war. Mechs change."<br/>
<br/>
"Not that much."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, I did. Besides, it's none of your business."<br/>
<br/>
Quicken rapped his fingers on the table. "I was nothing before the war, you know. Too poor for anything. I always wanted to see you race in person. That was my dream."<br/>
<br/>
"Time to find a new one then. You won't be the first." Blurr dried his hands and turned as the chime from the front door announced a new arrival.<br/>
<br/>
He planted a grin on his face, ready to meet the customer, and genuine joy bubbled up in his spark. Not a customer, but family.<br/>
<br/>
"Papa!" Echo laughed and made grabby hands as he leapt from Jazz's arms and into Ricochet's, who laughed and swept him up, peppering Echo's face in kisses.<br/>
<br/>
"There's my big botlet! How was school today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stupid. Do I hafta keep goin'?"<br/>
<br/>
"If you're gonna talk like that, then frag yeah, you do." Ricochet chuckled and started tickling their son, who dissolved into shrieks of delighted laughter. "No son of mine is going to sound like a doofus."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr's lips curved into a grin. He busied himself by finishing up the dishes.<br/>
<br/>
"C'mon, Let's go say hi to Mama."<br/>
<br/>
"No! Wanna stay with Daddy!"<br/>
<br/>
Blurr's grin faded. His shoulders slumped. And that, right there, was pretty common as of late. From the moment he and Ricochet sat down and explained to Echo that he had a brother coming, Echo decided that meant he wanted nothing to do with Blurr anymore. He clung to Ricochet, his favorite, and pretended Blurr didn’t exist to the best of his ability.<br/>
<br/>
Ratchet said it was a phase. He'd get over it once Rebound was born. Bluestreak said he was just spoiled and used to being the center of attention. Both were probably right.<br/>
<br/>
It still hurt.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr finished the dishes and wiped his hands, turning back to face the room. Jazz had given up reaching for Echo with a shrug and was now approaching the bar, Ricochet trailing in his wake with Echo clinging to him, face buried against his neck.<br/>
<br/>
"Give me the usual, barkeep," Jazz said as he pulled himself up into a stool, grinning from audial to audial. "Add it to my babysitting tab."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr snorted, but mixed up Jazz's favorite blend and slid it across the counter "You should be grateful for getting to spend time with Echo, not demanding free drinks."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't I have both?"<br/>
<br/>
"I see being greedy isn't limited to Ricochet alone," Blurr said, rolling his optics.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's greedy?" Ricochet asked as he slipped behind the counter, bouncing Echo on his hip. "Come on, botlet. Quit being a brat."<br/>
<br/>
"Not a brat," Echo grumbled.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, you are." Ricochet shifted, holding Echo up by his armpits, squinting up at their son. "Tell your Mama hello, you little scamp."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr sighed and scrubbed with half a spark at the counter. "He doesn't have to. Just put him in the playroom. He'll be fine." Said playroom was a new addition to the bar, a place where they could keep an eye on Echo and he could play, but they could both work if Jazz and Drift were too busy to sit.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek as if in apology. "I'll be back."<br/>
<br/>
"He's still going through that phase, huh?" Jazz asked as Ricochet vanished into the playroom.<br/>
<br/>
"It comes and goes," Blurr admitted as he braced his hands on the edge of the bar, rolling his neck to ease the kinks. "I don't know if he'll be better or worse when Rebound finally joins us. I'm half-afraid to find out."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz tipped back half his drink. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Echo's gonna love having a younger brother, almost as much as I love having a big one."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr snorted. "Right." He glanced around the bar but no one needed him as best he could tell. "Where's your better half?"<br/>
<br/>
"Working." Jazz scowled, his armor giving a flick of dissatisfaction. "Prowl assigned him to track down that growing anti-Decepticon movement."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr frowned. "Sounds dangerous." He hadn't realized the murmurs had gained enough volume to merit investigation, but that was why planet-wide security was Prowl's job and not his.<br/>
<br/>
"Blue can take care of himself."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I believe that. Doesn't mean you can't worry about him." He tilted his head as Jazz snorted. "Or miss him while he's busy."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz gave him a sour look, as if the implication he had soft feelings for his lover was an insult. "No one asked you."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr chuckled and topped off Jazz's drink. It was the least he could do. "I'm a bartender. It's my job to listen to the woes of my customers." He leaned against the counter. "Come on. What's your sadness?"<br/>
<br/>
Jazz's visor flickered, and he pointed at Blurr. "Don't you start. Else I'll have to point out how soft you're getting in that midsection of yours."<br/>
<br/>
It became Blurr's turn to scowl. "I am not. I've still got a couple weeks before I start to show."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure about that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't rile him up, bro. He's self-conscious enough as it is." Ricochet's voice threaded into their conversation as he appeared next to Jazz, popping out of the shadows like all spies were wont to do.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz, to his credit, didn't startle. Blurr had gotten used to it by now so he didn't either.<br/>
<br/>
"I am not," he said.<br/>
<br/>
"Are, too." Ricochet slung his arm over Jazz's shoulder, tugging his twin against him. "You look a little lonely. Is Bluestreak not treating you right?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's busy." Jazz tried to squirm out from under Ricochet's arm, but it was a lot like moving a steel trap. Blurr would know.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr rolled his optics. "Stop pretending like you don't intend to drag him off to the storage room and do it already."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet grinned, bearing his denta. "But lover, if I were to do that, who would guard the door?"<br/>
<br/>
Blurr gestured broadly to the bar, and the barely dozen mechs scattered around the interior. The amount of empty tables nearly outnumbered his actual patrons. "I think I can handle it."<br/>
<br/>
"Who even said I want to be dragged?" Jazz demanded.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet turned his head and gnawed on Jazz's sensory horn, making him shiver and go a little limp under Ricochet's arm. "Am I wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," Jazz groaned, but it wasn't very believable.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr waved them off and didn't watch as Ricochet grabbed Jazz and pulled him toward the storage room. If he watched, then he'd want to join in, and he couldn't because someone had to actually work around here. So instead, he pinged Ricochet to make video and contented himself with watching the replay later.<br/>
<br/>
He swept Jazz's empty into the sink and made a round of the room, gathering up other empties and dirties, garbage, a few cred chips left behind as tip, et cetera. Breezy asked for a refill, so Blurr fetched that for him, and by the time he returned to the bar, Quicken was signalling for more.<br/>
<br/>
"Four tonight? Celebrating something good or mourning something bad?" Blurr asked as he swapped the empty for a full.<br/>
<br/>
Quicken gave him a solemn look. "I ought to be buying you the drink," he said, and his gaze slid pointedly to the left and the closed storage room. "Don't you hate having to share your lover?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not any of your business honestly," Blurr said, and planted his customer service smile on his lips. "I'm happy the way things are, that's all I'm going to say."<br/>
<br/>
"But you deserve someone who wants you and you alone. Who would worship and adore you the way you are meant to be adored," Quicken insisted.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr chuckled, and maybe it was more nervous than he meant it to sound. "I think you overestimate who I am, Quicken, but I appreciate the sentiment." He knocked his knuckles on the counter and shifted away. "Let me know if you need anything else."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd be happier with someone else," Quicken muttered, and Blurr wisely pretended not to hear, leaving the other mech to his drink.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn't the first time Quicken had flirted with him or insinuated he should leave Ricochet for someone else. Blurr doubted it would be the last. But Quicken was a steady customer and a good tipper, so Blurr was loathe to ban him, and well.<br/>
<br/>
At least he hadn't tried to grope Blurr.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
Jazz's back hit the shelf, rattling several jars of raw metallics. He froze; Ricochet did as well. They waited to see if any of the jars tumbled, and only when the rattling faded did Ricochet grab Jazz by the aft and heft him up, pinning him against the shelves.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to knock something down," Jazz panted as denta clamped on his intake cables with enough pressure to make him jerk. His thighs tightened around his brother's waist, his valve already slick and open.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sleeping with the owner. I think I'll be all right." Ricochet laughed and thrust up, his spike grinding hard against Jazz's rim but not piercing him yet. "He can put it on my tab."<br/>
<br/>
"You're playing with fire, bro."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled again, grabbed his aft, and Jazz groaned as his twin fixed the angle and slid into him in one quick thrust, spikehead grinding against his ceiling node. Ecstasy shot electric flame through his sensor net, and Jazz sank claws into Ricochet's shoulders, hips rocking and rolling to ride the breadth of Ricochet's shaft.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna have a talk with that lover of yours. I think he's neglecting you," Ricochet panted as he bit Jazz's neck again, hard enough to bruise.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz keened, visor fritzing, head falling back against a shelf. A box clunked. More jars rattled. His spike emerged, grinding against Ricochet's abdomen, and it was as delicious as it was a tease.<br/>
<br/>
"He's... busy," Jazz gasped as Ricochet fragged him harder and faster, quick and deep strokes designed to bring him off hard and fast. Talons slid into his seams, pricking his cables, barely present pain that made Jazz shiver.<br/>
<br/>
"That's not an acceptable excuse." Ricochet growled before he stole Jazz's mouth for a kiss, his glossa plunging inside as if laying claim.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz moaned, lights popping behind his visor, his valve cycling down, charge spilling out to caress Ricochet's spike. The shelf rattled louder. He didn't care. Blurr could bill him.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet's field crashed over his, pulsing <em>mine, mine, mine</em>, and Jazz keened as he overloaded, drowning in the tidal wave that was his twin, his spike spurting and valve clamping tight. Ricochet growled his approval, bit Jazz's bottom lip, grinning against his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"That was quick," he said, and tightened his hips, pulling Jazz down onto his spike again and again, thrusting deep, seeking his own pleasure.<br/>
<br/>
"S-Shut up," Jazz panted, and rode the thrusts, squeaks escaping him before he could stop them as each thrust raked his sensitive lining, pounded his ceiling node, until Ricochet fragged a second overload right out of him, and the following splash of his brother's spill made Jazz writhe.<br/>
<br/>
He panted, spent, twitching, as Ricochet ground deep, denta locked on Jazz's intake cables, breathing hotly.<br/>
<br/>
"Like you were made for me," Ricochet groaned and circled his hips as if savoring every twitch and quiver of Jazz's pleasure.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz laughed, shaky though it was, and dragged Ricochet's face toward him for a kiss, a biting one, which left his lips swollen in the aftermath. The intensity eased until Ricochet pressed their foreheads together, lips curved smugly.<br/>
<br/>
"Better?"<br/>
<br/>
"I should be asking you that," Jazz retorted.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet squeezed his aft before lowering Jazz to the ground, setting him down on shaky legs. "Close your panel."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz obeyed, trapping his brother's spill before it could slick his thighs. It was immediate, his obedience, too trained in him to think otherwise, unless he had the strength to be contrary.<br/>
<br/>
Tonight, he didn't.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet cupped his face, swept a thumb over his swollen bottom lip, and Jazz licked it, because he could. Ricochet grinned at him, approving, before he gently patted Jazz's cheek.<br/>
<br/>
"Now clean up your mess," he said, gesturing to his abdomen, and the firmness of his tone, the obvious command, sent a sharp surge of charge down Jazz's spinal strut.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz's knees wobbled, so he sank down to them, his glossa flicking over Ricochet's abdomen, and lapping up his own spill. Ricochet's hand landed on his head, gentle, and he stroked Jazz's sensory horns, his field pulsing approval.<br/>
<br/>
"Good," Ricochet murmured, and Jazz breathed a moan, relief throbbing warm and thready through his spark and sensor net.<br/>
<br/>
Damn, he hated when Ricochet was right. He did miss this.<br/>
<br/>
"Where is that no-good partner of yours if he's left you this needy?" Ricochet asked.<br/>
<br/>
"He's busy. Prowl has him tracking down that anti-Decepticon group," Jazz answered in between licks, the taste of his own spill mingling with the familiar flavor of his twin's armor.<br/>
<br/>
"Those idiots? They aren't worth the mechpower. They're outnumbered, and they know it." Ricochet snorted and gave a pinch to Jazz's sensory horn, making him jerk. "Meanwhile, you need to go back to work."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz glared up at him. "I have a job."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet squeezed his sensory horn harder, and Jazz winced. "Working at the bar doesn't count. Stop sulking and talk to Rodimus, or even better, Starscream. They'll find a use for you."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz opted to ignore him rather than retort, and focused intently on his task, until his brother's abdomen and spike were clean. Jazz pressed a kiss to the tip of Ricochet's half-pressurized unit, and looked up at his twin.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that good enough?"<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet's engine growled. "If I had the time, I'd heat your aft for that." He grabbed Jazz's sensory horn and hauled him to his feet, yanking him in for a kiss. "You're lucky I have to get back to work," he growled against Jazz's mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"That barely counts as a job." Jazz flickered his visor and nipped Ricochet's bottom lip, squirming out of the other mech's grasp before Ricochet could bite in retaliation. He rustled a cleaning cloth from one of the shelves. "How is that going, by the way?"<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet folded his arms, glaring. He hated being thwarted. "Fine. It's not like it's the first time I've dealt with Blurr being sparked. Echo's a bit bent out of shape, but he didn't have the luxury of having a baby brother born beside him."<br/>
<br/>
"Luxury?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know how lucky you are." Ricochet smirked.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor and finished wiping at his frame. There wasn't much he could do about the paint streaks, but he'd worry about those later. Maybe it would inspire Bluestreak.<br/>
<br/>
A mech could dream.<br/>
<br/>
"Echo will be fine. He's just used to having all the attention." Jazz looked around for the laundry bin and tossed the dirtied rag into it, making a mental note that the laundry needed to be done. Honestly, what would Blurr do without him? He couldn't get a different job. He was needed here.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet crowded him against the wall, gripping his chin and forcing his face up. "So are you, Jazz." He thumbed Jazz's bottom lip. "Tell Bluestreak to get his act together, or I'm taking you back."<br/>
<br/>
"You've got your hands full as it is."<br/>
<br/>
"I always have room for you." Ricochet kissed him again, a bit gentler this time, and it always made Jazz weak, to have a little bit of softness from his hard as steel twin.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz leaned into the kiss with a quiet sigh. He was happy for Ricochet, he really was, but Blurr did get a lot more of Ricochet's time and attention. So Jazz supposed he could sympathize with Echo.<br/>
<br/>
No one wanted to be the mech left behind.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
Blurr had an armful of dirty dishware in one hand, and was scrubbing a table with another, when he registered a presence behind him. He whirled around, hand cocked, and was immediately pulled into a kiss, a wrist trapping his arm before he could strike.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled against his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"You're an aft," Blurr said, but he stopped fighting and allowed the kiss, brief though it was. "And you taste like Jazz."<br/>
<br/>
"If anything, he tastes like me," Ricochet said, and pulled back, his visor fluttering in a wink. He looked pointedly around the interior. "Where is everyone?"<br/>
<br/>
"My bank account wonders the same thing." Blurr tumbled the dirty dishware into Ricochet's arms. "Take those to the sink."<br/>
<br/>
"Sir, yes, sir." Ricochet patted him on the aft and obeyed, whistling.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr rolled his optics and finished wiping down the table. There were only a few patrons lingering, with the card game having finished up while Ricochet was occupied. It was too early for him to close, but at this rate, it might be cheaper to do so.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz hadn't bothered to say goodbye.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr cleaned another table, grabbed the dirty dishes from it, and returned behind the bar, adding them to the sink. He started the solvent, and immediately felt a hot frame press against him from behind, a kiss landing against his audial.<br/>
<br/>
"You should close up early," Ricochet murmured as he grabbed Blurr's hips and nuzzled the back of his neck.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr fought down a shiver. "Didn't you get enough?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never."<br/>
<br/>
Another kiss pressed against his nape, and Blurr swallowed thickly. "I'm not closing early. Creds don't magically appear in our accounts, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"They don't come from invisible customers either."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr snorted despite himself. "Then maybe I ought to get out on the street corner and hustle."<br/>
<br/>
A low growl of Ricochet's engine preceded him spinning Blurr around, crowding him against the sink. "Unacceptable," he said. "And wipe that smirk off your face."<br/>
<br/>
"What? This smirk?" Blurr widened it and patted Ricochet's cheek, smearing solvent all over it. "Why don't you go take our sparkling upstairs and if our customers clear out, I'll close up early and join you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine." Ricochet swept in for a biting kiss, enough to make Blurr's lips tingle, before he withdrew. "And you're gonna pay for that later."<br/>
<br/>
"If you say so."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr spun back around to finish the dishes and heard Ricochet mutter, but didn't catch the words. He's sure it wasn't very charitable. Blurr chuckled.<br/>
<br/>
Some things never changed.<br/>
<br/>
A moment later, however, Blurr's armor prickled, like he was being watched. Not even years after the end of the war had his awareness faded. Especially since the incident with Whipstrike.<br/>
<br/>
He glanced over his shoulder as he moved the clean dishes to the sanitizer. Quicken stared in his direction, and Blurr didn't know the mech well enough to read him, but Blurr hadn't survived the war by being naive. There was anger in Quicken's optics. Anger and something else.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you need something?" Blurr asked, planting a customer service smile on his lips.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm done actually," Quicken said. He hopped down from his stool and tossed a cred chip onto the counter. "Good night, Blurr."<br/>
<br/>
"Have a good one!"<br/>
<br/>
Blurr pretended to return to the dishes, but he kept an optic on Quicken, not that the mech looked back or at anyone else as he left. The door chimed as he disappeared past it. Blurr shook himself and went back to work.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe he's just paranoid. Creepy, after all, was pretty standard here in this post-war Cybertron. War had changed a lot of mechs in a lot of ways, not all of them for the better.<br/>
<br/>
His last couple of customers trickled out ten minutes later, and Blurr made the executive decision to go ahead and close up. Especially when he peered out into the empty, quiet streets. It wasn't exactly teeming with potential customers out there.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr performed the closing duties quickly, a job made easier by the fact he'd been slow enough he'd maintained New Maccadam's over the course of the evening. He balanced the till, put the clean dishes away, and swept the floor before dimming the lights and setting the alarms.<br/>
<br/>
At least he didn't have far to go. Through the newly installed playroom and up the back stairs to the apartment above, newly renovated for his family, growing as it was. He suspected Prowl had a hand in bumping Blurr up the renovation queue, maybe as a form of indirect apology to Ricochet for the spurious imprisonment.<br/>
<br/>
He keyed himself into their apartment, fighting back a yawn. He shouldn't be so exhausted, it had been a slow day, but his new carry seemed to be more of a draw on his frame than he would have expected.<br/>
<br/>
There was a mess in the living room, toys strewn across the couch and floor. Steam puffed out of the washrack, and when Blurr peered in there, towels had been left in a clump near the drain.<br/>
<br/>
He sighed.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet's voice floated out from Echo's room, so Blurr peeked inside, smiling when he found them curled up on Echo's berth. Ricochet had a datapad in one hand, and their sparkling tucked under his other arm as he read one of Echo's favorite stories aloud.<br/>
<br/>
Echo was enraptured, laughing as his sire echoed the character's voices, and gasping when something amazing happened.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment, Blurr didn't do anything but watch, warmth in his spark and a smile on his lips. If someone had told him, eons ago when all he lived for was the thrill of a race and the next big thing, that this was his future, he would have laughed. Now, he couldn't imagine what he'd do without them.<br/>
<br/>
"The end," said Ricochet as he kissed the top of Echo's head. "That's it, bit. Time for recharge."<br/>
<br/>
"Read it again," Echo pleaded as he climbed into Ricochet's lap and grabbed Ricochet's cheeks with his hands. "Please, please, please."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet laughed and set the datapad aside. He lifted Echo up and turned, playfully tumbling him back into the berth. "No dice, bitlet. Mama will come in and yell if I don't get you tucked into bed properly."<br/>
<br/>
"Nooooo." Echo giggled as Ricochet tucked him beneath the covers, a big smile on his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." Ricochet pinned him down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "You have school tomorrow. You know the rules."<br/>
<br/>
"Aw."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr pushed off the door and stepped into the room, making sure not to notice the mess of toys and datapads and paraphenalia strewn about the floor. He'd learned to pick his battles.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't yell," Blurr said as he stepped over a damp towel. "I resent that remark."<br/>
<br/>
Both Ricochet and Echo look up as he entered, though only the former showed any real happiness. Echo immediately dipped into a pout and rolled over on his side, tugging up the blanket around himself.<br/>
<br/>
"You have a very loud glare," Ricochet said as he curved a hand around Blurr's waist and pulled him in for a nuzzle.<br/>
<br/>
"I do not." Blurr squirmed free and sat on the edge of the berth, tucking the blanket tighter around his bitlet. "Good night, Echo." He bent to kiss Echo on the cheek, but Echo whined and burrowed under the cover, avoiding the affection.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr swallowed a sigh. He patted his sparkling's blanket-wrapped frame and stood up. "I'm going to wash up," he said, and made his escape before Ricochet could reel him in, or before he could hear Echo respond to Ricochet when he'd done his best to ignore Blurr.<br/>
<br/>
It would be a lie to say it didn't hurt. Blurr understood, of course he did. Echo was a child, and behaved like a child. He felt betrayed by Blurr, and the attention both of his parents paid to the oncoming Rebound.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr was supposed to be the mature adult here. That wasn't much of a comfort.<br/>
<br/>
He rubbed the base of his spinal strut and slipped into the washracks, picking up the dirtied cloths and tossing them in the laundry bin as he did so.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Don't you miss racing?</em><br/>
<br/>
Quicken's words echoed at the back of his mind. It was a stupid question, honestly. Of course Blurr missed racing. It was in his spark. He missed the speed and the challenge and yeah, the adulation and the praise. He missed the life of wealth and glory. He missed a lot of things he didn't have anymore.<br/>
<br/>
Wouldn't have again.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr enjoyed his current life. He loved the bar, he loved Ricochet, he loved Echo. He wouldn't give up any of it for anything.<br/>
<br/>
But if given the opportunity to have all of it, and race again? That would be the ultimate dream. A distant one, he reasoned. Entertainment was low on the list of rebuilding priorities. He doubted there was much interest in revitalizing their sports.<br/>
<br/>
It was a shame.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr sighed as he stepped under the hot solvent, bracing his hands on the wall to let it pour over his armor and to his substructure, washing away his stress as much as the dirt and grime. His back ached; his hips ached. He'd forgotten how much he hated the changes carrying made to his frame.<br/>
<br/>
The moist heat helped. Some. More helpful would be a pair of strong hands to massage the kinks from his cables.<br/>
<br/>
The washrack door slid open. Well. Speak of the Decepticon.<br/>
<br/>
"You got started without me," Ricochet said, his voice echoing in the small space. He pressed up against Blurr's back, brushing a kiss against the side of his intake. "Mmm. Still got here in time though."<br/>
<br/>
"Echo asleep?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's in bed. He'll get there eventually." Ricochet's hands skimmed over his side and around to his front, cupping the small rise of his belly. "How's bit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine as fine can be." Blurr reached for the sponge to scrub himself down, but Ricochet beat him to it.<br/>
<br/>
Smart mech.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr let himself be pampered, shuttering his optics as the warm solvent coursed over his frame, and Ricochet's hands followed the rivulets.<br/>
<br/>
"How's Jazz?"<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuffed a vent. "Twitchy. Bored. He never shoulda quit that job with Prowl. Even if the mech is an aft." He crouched to scrub Blurr's legs, paying attention to the sensitive juncture of his knees, and Blurr fought back a shiver. "Doesn't help that Bluestreak's neck deep in an assignment. I wanna knock some sense into both of 'em."<br/>
<br/>
"You're such a good big brother."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet stood up and grasped Blurr's hips, nipping at his audial. "I'm the best big brother," he murmured, and rocked against Blurr's aft, heat radiating from his frame. "And Echo will be, too. Once he stops being a brat."<br/>
<br/>
"He gets that from you."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet laughed and bit Blurr's neck cable, making his knees wobble. "There's only one drama queen in this relationship, Zippy, and it sure as slag ain't me."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Blurr scoffed. "Who's the mech that throws a hissy fit anytime someone looks at me sideways?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care about looking. It's the touching I got a problem with."<br/>
<br/>
"It's the everything," Blurr corrected, and flicked the switch from solvent to rinse, before his armor started to get streaks. Sunstreaker wasn't around to make him pretty right now.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled and pressed harder against Blurr, one hand sliding around to cup Blurr's rapidly heating groin. "You're a gorgeous piece of aft. So what if I'm a little possessive? Mechs around here tend to be greedy." He rapped his fingers over Blurr's panel. "Come on. Open up."<br/>
<br/>
Blurr obeyed, his spike emerging right into Ricochet's waiting grip. His knees wobbled, a groan echoing in the washrack, as Ricochet stroked him perfectly.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't trust me?" Blurr asked as his fingers curled against the wall, his hips rocking into the tunnel of Ricochet's fist.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't trust <em>them</em>." Ricochet rocked against his aft, the same rhythm as the slow, squeezing strokes to Blurr's spike.<br/>
<br/>
"You keep throwing mechs out the way you do, not only am I going to lose business, but someone's going to take exception to it," Blurr grumbled, though it was hard to hold on to a gripe when Ricochet was thumbing the head of his spike and making his sensornet sizzle with arousal.<br/>
<br/>
"I'd like to see them try." Ricochet's denta scraped the back of his neck, and Blurr shivered.<br/>
<br/>
A moan escaped him before he could stop it, his spike throbbing, and his valve leaking lubricant against his closed panel. He pushed back against Ricochet again, unsure if he wanted to spill like this or with a spike inside of him. Being sparked confused his coding to no end.<br/>
<br/>
"You're too... arrogant," Blurr panted as he reached over and slammed the button on the wall, cutting off the rinse and the rack. A recycling system had been put into place, but that didn't mean they could be so casually wasteful. "Take me to a berth."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet chuckled and gave his spike one last squeeze before he withdrew to retrieve a towel. "I'm confident. There's a difference." He spun Blurr around for a searing kiss before he started to swipe the cloth over Blurr's frame while Blurr struggled to keep standing on weak knees.<br/>
<br/>
His spike throbbed.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think there's anyone who could actually pose a threat?" Ricochet asked.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr twisted his jaw. "I think it would be stupid to assume they can't be." He swallowed thickly, thoughts firing on half-cylinders as most of his focus pooled in his groin. "Like Quicken. He can't stand you."<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet snorted. "That Neutral fanboy? I'm not worried about him at all. If anyone, Cork's a bigger threat."<br/>
<br/>
He tossed the damp towel aside and pulled Blurr in for another kiss, hungrier than the last, the arousal in his field finally falling over Blurr with hot intent.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not worried about some mech who ran away from the war and didn't have the bearings to pick a side," Ricochet said with a laugh before he picked Blurr up with stupid ease.<br/>
<br/>
Sometimes, it paid to be as light as he was, even with the added mass of Rebound within him.<br/>
<br/>
"Besides, I've killed one mech for you already. Don't think I won't kill another," Ricochet said.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr swallowed thickly. A part of him felt he should be appalled by the murder in Ricochet's tone, but he wasn't. If anything, it made him shiver and grab Ricochet's head to kiss him, his glossa plunging into Ricochet's mouth, his sensornet aflame with need.<br/>
<br/>
Thank Primus the berth was just outside the rack, and Ricochet only had to take a few steps to tilt them onto it. He pressed against Blurr's back, raining biting kisses over his neck and clavicular strut, pressurized spike nudging against the back of Blurr's thighs.<br/>
<br/>
"Killing is... frowned upon," Blurr panted as a firm hand closed around his spike, stroking him again, and he writhed in Ricochet's arms, one hand twisted in the berthsheets, the other closed around Ricochet's wrist to keep him in place.<br/>
<br/>
Ricochet hummed and rocked his hips, thrusting between Blurr's legs, gliding over the damp pleats of his valve. "Only if you get caught," he murmured against Blurr's audial and thrust again, teasing Blurr with the idea of penetration.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr threw his leg backward, over Ricochet's, opening himself up. He canted his hips back, caught Ricochet's spike on the next rock, and groaned as he slid inside, the head of it catching the perfect angle to rake the bundle of sensors behind the rim of Blurr's valve. His spike throbbed, dribbling pre-fluid over Ricochet's fingers.<br/>
<br/>
"Frag me, damn it!" Blurr hissed, trying to arch his hips backward, push Ricochet deeper.<br/>
<br/>
"With pleasure," Ricochet purred and he rocked his hips, sliding deep as he stroked Blurr with a squeezing pull, lighting his circuits aflame.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr moaned, frame drawn taut, charge licking across his cables. Ecstasy surged through his lines in an electric wave, his spike throbbing, and his valve clutching hungrily at Ricochet's spike. He pressed back, into the cradle of Ricochet’s frame, affection and need crashing over him, Ricochet’s mouth hot and wet on the back of his neck.<br/>
<br/>
Between one thrust and the next, Blurr overloaded, the ecstasy flooding through him warm and tingling and on the end of a quiet moan. Ricochet worked him through it, stroking him gentle, thrusting deep and smooth, and the care he took never failed to make Blurr’s spark quiver.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr sank into Ricochet’s embrace, the pleasure settling around him like an oil bath, as Ricochet continued to touch and tease, rocking into him at such an even pace that when he overloaded, Blurr did as well, less intense, but more extended, until it seemed to take every last bit of tension in him and utterly erase it, leaving him spent and sated, a wreck in the berth.<br/>
<br/>
“Mmm, that’s much better,” Ricochet murmured as he nuzzled into the back of Blurr’s neck, his fingers gliding over Blurr’s plating.<br/>
<br/>
Blurr hummed. “It’ll do.”<br/>
<br/>
“You remain ever difficult to please, my racer,” Ricochet teased. “Good thing I love you for it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. Guess I love you, too,” Blurr murmured, already feeling the sweet, sweet pull of recharge, trusting Ricochet to do the clean up.<br/>
<br/>
He always did.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
The apartment was dark when Bluestreak dragged himself home, but he knew better than to assume it was empty. Jazz had an odd habit of lurking in the dark, whether he was home or not, as if he existed better in shadow than light.<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak found it charming. It was part and parcel to dating a spy.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz didn't so much as live with him as he didn't live anywhere else, so by default, the address to reach him was Bluestreak's apartment. Bluestreak knew he kept several boltholes scattered around Cybertron, and occasionally crashed at those when the mood struck him, but Bluestreak's apartment he'd made a base of operations.<br/>
<br/>
To say that Jazz had commitment issues was putting it lightly.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, Bluestreak knew all this coming into the relationship. When it came to their contract, to the trust Jazz placed in Bluestreak's hands, Jazz's commitment was absolute. Outside of that, well, it was shaky.<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak paused in the doorway, stretching out his sensors, and a quiet pingback echoed from the berthroom. Apartment not empty then. Good to know.<br/>
<br/>
Best not to startle Jazz, who was probably not recharging, but lying alert in the berth, waiting to confirm it was Bluestreak who had entered and not an intruder. The war was years in the past, but lessons learned upon centuries of conflict did not easily slip into the night.<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak didn't bother with energon or cleaning up. He'd take care of both in the morning. Right now, he wanted to recharge, preferably with a nimble spy wrapped around him.<br/>
<br/>
He slipped into the berthroom and sure enough, biolights dimly glowed at him, and a thin sliver of light reflected from Jazz's visor.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, babe," Jazz said, and the lights in the room popped on at twenty-five percent, highlighting the shadows and the spy in the berth. "You're home late."<br/>
<br/>
"Secret societies seem to think that there's something unnatural about meeting at a normal time," Bluestreak grumbled and climbed onto the berth, over Jazz, who immediately curled in toward him. "As you well know."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz snorted and slid his hands up Bluestreak's arms. "Any luck trackin' down the anti-Cons?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's such a stupid name," Bluestreak muttered, but he nuzzled Jazz and in-vented, some of the tension easing from his cables. A familiar odor caught his receptors. "Mm. You went to see Ricochet, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Guilty."<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak hummed a laugh and kissed Jazz, unsurprised to taste a bit of unfamiliar on his lover's lips. He supposed he had been neglecting Jazz as of late. It was hardly a surprise he'd gone to his twin for comfort.<br/>
<br/>
"You taste like him," Bluestreak murmured.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm a little amused that you can tell by a taste." Jazz laughed and nipped Bluestreak's bottom lip. "Uncle Jazz was on duty today. I had to pick up Echo from school."<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak shifted a little, tucking Jazz into the crook of his frame, and waited for Jazz to squirm away, but when the spy snuggled closer, Bluestreak grinned. "He still in a phase?"<br/>
<br/>
"It is an utter betrayal of Blurr to get sparked again," Jazz declared, and broke into a quiet snicker, tucking his face into Bluestreak's throat and nipping a cable. "Bitlet's adorable. I don't envy Blurr or Ricochet when he gets older."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever menace Echo becomes, I'm sure Ricochet deserves it," Bluestreak said.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz laughed against Bluestreak's intake. "You're probably right." His fingers tickled along Bluestreak's seams, not enough to titillate, but it felt good regardless. "Tell me about the anti-Cons. I need the good gossip."<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak snorted. "There's nothing to tell. There's a lot of chatter on the intra-net, graffiti popping up here and there, and a lot of grumbling, but the one tip I had for a meeting turned out to be false, and I spent the whole night scouring the abandoned shopping complex just to be sure."<br/>
<br/>
He frowned, annoyed to his very core, and if the tipster hadn't been anonymous, Bluestreak would have had a few choice words to give to the mech. He now suspected said tipster hadn't been a friendly civilian, but someone determined to throw Bluestreak off the scent, despite the fact no one was supposed to know Bluestreak had been given this assignment. Officially, he didn't work for Prowl.<br/>
<br/>
"Want some help?" Jazz asked.<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak tucked his chin on top of Jazz's head. "I might. If I don't make any progress and you're not too busy." Which, he knew, Jazz wasn't. A life of leisure and inactivity didn't suit Jazz, but he was too stubborn to go to Prowl and offer his services again. He'd rather pretend he was happy just being a bartender.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll try and make time in my very busy schedule." Jazz's field wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and the lights cut out, bathing the room in the soft glow of the emergency runners. He'd even doused his biolights, as all spies could do. "Got a nephew to look after, you know, and he's pretty time-consuming."<br/>
<br/>
Bluestreak grinned and stroked Jazz's backstrut, tracing the little divots in his armor, the multiple places where Jazz was more flexible than most. "Speaking of... are you sure you don't want a bitlet of your own?"<br/>
<br/>
Jazz's engine thrummed a steady rhythm. "Absolutely. Being an uncle is fun, but at the end of the day, I wanna give Echo back. Taking care of one full-time is just not my idea of a good time." He paused, his vocals shifting in timbre. "You?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're on the same page. I've never wanted sparklings, and as adorable as Echo is, I'm not keen on having one for myself either." Bluestreak nuzzled the top of Jazz's head, playfully nipping a sensory horn -- which had a few nibble marks in it already, no doubt courtesy of Ricochet. "You're about all the handful I can handle."<br/>
<br/>
"Fair enough." Jazz laughed, and the minute tension in his frame vanished. He wiggled pointedly. "You could take a handful of me right now, if you want."<br/>
<br/>
"Or in the morning. When I'll have enough energy to remind you that you belong in my berth just as much as you belong in your brother's," Bluestreak said with a gentle pat to Jazz's aft.<br/>
<br/>
"Getting rusty in your old age, Blue."<br/>
<br/>
"Hush. Recharge now."<br/>
<br/>
Jazz snickered but obeyed, his limbs winding around Bluestreak like clinging vines as if in an attempt to keep him aberth. It was to be one of those nights, then, where Jazz wouldn't let go short of an emergency, which was a far cry from the nights Jazz preferred to sleep on the edge of the berth without an inch of their armor touching.<br/>
<br/>
Jazz was complicated.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, Bluestreak liked complicated.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The weekly poker tournament was Blurr's least favorite night of the week. It was astonishingly good for business, guaranteed an almost packed house, and was the majority of his income for the week.<br/><br/>But it was also crowded, noisy, loud, and the more his customers gambled, the more they drank. The more creds they lost, the angrier they became. And the angrier and more overcharged the crowd, the quicker they were to violence.<br/><br/>Blurr ran the bar with Jazz as his backup. Riptide worked the crowd, running drinks and orders along with Jazz whenever needed. Times like this, Blurr wished Bluestreak hadn't run off to play Enforcer with Prowl. He could use another pair of capable hands.<br/><br/>Thank Primus for Drift, otherwise he had no idea who'd look after Echo.<br/><br/>It was madness.<br/><br/>A raucous roar from the left caught Blurr's attention, and he glanced over there in enough time to see Ricochet break up yet another fight, scruffing some mech who had yet to relinquish his Auto-badge, and escorting him to the door, spitting obscenities. The group left behind jostled each other as if scrapping for another altercation.<br/><br/>Damn it.<br/><br/>‘Hire another bouncer,’ Ricochet growled across the comm.<br/><br/>‘We can't afford another employee,’ Blurr snapped back.<br/><br/>It wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. Blurr doubted it would be the last. It happened every poker night like clockwork.<br/><br/>Riptide slapped an order on the counter in front of him. "For Delta Table. Again," he said, rolling his optics, losing some of his usual joviality.<br/><br/>Blurr groaned. Delta couldn't just order a pitcher of the house special like most of the other tables. No. All night, the half-dozen of them had each ordered specialty cocktails with complicated, time-consuming recipes.<br/><br/>"Please tell me they're at least tipping well," Blurr said.<br/><br/>"I wish." Riptide grabbed the next tray of completed drinks and dove back into the crowd.<br/><br/>"Afts," Blurr muttered.<br/><br/>Granted, he paid his employees fairly well. Tips weren't required. But if a customer was going to be a pain in the aft, it was just common courtesy. Wasn't it?<br/><br/>He mixed up the drinks as quickly as he could, leaving Jazz to handle the orders being shouted at them from the bar.<br/><br/>"You need to hire someone else," Jazz said as he reached past Blurr for the jar of iron filings. "Poker nights are officially too much."<br/><br/>"Can't afford it," Blurr snapped, and shoved the tray of ready drinks into Jazz's chest. "Take these to Table Delta. I'll finish this." He plucked the remnants of a Toxic Turnover from Jazz's hands and made shooing motions.<br/><br/>Jazz chuffed a vent at him. "You're lucky I love you," he said, and disappeared into the crowd, holding the drinks above his head, which made it easy for Blurr to track his progress through the morass of mechs.<br/><br/>Music blared from the speakers, as if vying with the chatter to see who could be the most obnoxious and loud. Rising cheers announced winners, while groans and boos surrounded those who hadn't been so lucky.<br/><br/>Jazz returned, but this time with an order for tables Rho and Phi, both of whom wanted pitchers. An easy task. Blurr left Jazz behind the bar to give himself a break and take a lay of the land, so to speak, see if there was any end to the chaos in sight.<br/><br/>Table Rho slipped him a sizable tip, and Blurr made a mental note of the players located therein. If they came back, he'd give them a little something extra in thanks.<br/><br/>Quicken, however, was at Table Phi, and he brightened the moment he saw Blurr, rushing over to take the tray out of Blurr's hands before he could set it on the table.<br/><br/>"You need help," Quicken said, shouting to be heard over the music. "You look tense. Like you need to relax. I could help with that, you know."<br/><br/>Blurr planted a bland smile on his lips. "I think I've got it covered, thanks." He swept up the two empty pitchers from the table, tucking them under each arm.<br/><br/>Quicken leaned in closer, still beaming, his optics giving off the too-bright flare of the overcharged. "You need to be worshiped, Blurr. You need better than this."<br/><br/>Blurr sidestepped Quicken, absently putting another mech between them. "I think it's your turn," he said as new cards were being dealt around the table, and when Quicken glanced to check, Blur vanished into the crowd, all the way back to the safety of the bar, where Jazz was already drowning in new drink orders, and looking a little harried.<br/><br/>"Did you stop for a quickie?" Jazz demanded as he shoved two cocktails at two customers, flipped cred chips into the register, and took another order, all in the same three seconds.<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics and chose not to address the clearly rhetorical question. Instead, he started filling the drink orders as fast as he could, making a mental note of the various garnishes and flavorings which were starting to run low.<br/><br/>He'd have to make a trip to the storage closet soon if they kept up this pace.<br/><br/>Above the noise, he heard the usual arguments devolve into something more heated. It caught his attention enough to seek out the altercation, unsurprised to find Ricochet in the thick of it, clearly scrapping with one of the customers.<br/><br/>"That's it! You're out of here!" Ricochet shouted, loud enough to be heard over the chaos, and Blurr caught a glimpse of a familiar frame as Ricochet dragged the struggling mech toward the door.<br/><br/>It was Quicken.<br/><br/>"I'm a paying customer!" Quicken shouted, though he didn't have quite the same volume as Ricochet. "Get your fragging hands off me, you Decepticon scum!"<br/><br/>Blurr sighed.<br/><br/>"Oh, now you want to talk about keeping your hands to yourself," Ricochet snapped, and his armor bristled, like his subconscious had registered Quicken as a legitimate threat.<br/><br/>"Frag you! Let me go!" Quicken tried to yank himself free, but it was useless. Ricochet was bigger and stronger, and no one seemed inclined to help.<br/><br/>Ricochet lifted Quicken and tossed him out the door, where he vanished from sight, and Blurr assumed he landed somewhere unpleasant. "Stay out," Ricochet shouted. "And don't come back." He dusted off his hands.<br/><br/>Blurr frowned. 'That was excessive, don't you think?'<br/><br/>Ricochet turned and caught Blurr's gaze from across the room. 'If you ask me, I was being gentle. Mech needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.'<br/><br/>'He was harassing other customers?'<br/><br/>'Nope. Just you, and that's reason enough for me.'<br/><br/>Blurr glared, jaw set. He hadn't realized Ricochet had noticed Quicken's too friendly behavior. 'What did I tell you about tossing out paying customers for looking at me sideways?'<br/><br/>Across the room, Ricochet shrugged and shot Blurr a cocky grin. 'You know, I can't quite remember. Maybe you should remind me later.'<br/><br/>Blurr growled, not that Ricochet could hear it, but before he could respond, Jazz elbowed him in the side.<br/><br/>"Come on, boss. The orders are piling up," Jazz said. "Yell at my brother later.”<br/><br/>'Just get back to work,' Blurr snapped at Ricochet, and proceeded to follow his own advice, letting the irritation with his mate simmer under the surface. They had creds to make, and a bar to keep afloat.<br/><br/>He didn’t understand Ricochet’s insecurity either. They were mated now, conjunx by all measures of the term and all required legalities. It had been something Blurr insisted upon before he agreed to get sparked again. Ricochet didn’t care one whit about what the law said, but Blurr wanted to make sure their sparklings were protected on the off chance anything ever happened to Blurr, and that Ricochet could legally access Blurr’s holdings.<br/><br/>He wanted the paperwork to show what they meant to each other. Ricochet relented, and so they had a small ceremony, with only Jazz and Bluestreak to serve as witnesses, and told their closest friends afterward. Frankly, Blurr was surprised Ricochet didn’t want to shout it from the rooftops, as possessive as he was.<br/><br/>Sometimes, Blurr just didn’t understand his mate.<br/><br/>It was less than an hour later when Ricochet pinged him to let him know Drift had arrived, Echo in arms, and Blurr had a moment to spare to toss a smile his sparkling's direction before another string of orders made him rush back and forth behind the counter.<br/><br/>After giving hugs and kisses to Daddy, Drift took up a post at the bar -- heedless of Blurr's offer to simply put Echo in the playroom. Ratchet needed to hurry up and spark that mech, otherwise there might be one day, Drift would refuse to give Echo back. He had sparkling envy like no one else Blurr had met.<br/><br/>Blurr took a moment of a breather to give Echo a kiss and push the bitlet's favorite drink across the counter -- enough to earn him a loving smile from the contrary bit, before he had to get back to work. Echo was safe in Drift's arms, leaving Blurr to focus on the job.<br/><br/>The poker tournament declared a victor, cheers and celebration nearly raised the roof on New Maccadams, and Blurr breathed a sigh of relief. After a round of celebratory drinks, mechs would start to trickle out and the loud fervor of the card game would start to ease.<br/><br/>Thank Primus.<br/><br/>There were no more fights, which was even more lucky, and only a few dropped cubes left sticky messes on the floor. They'd need to be scrubbed.<br/><br/>Blurr would make Ricochet do it.<br/><br/>Echo fell asleep in Drift's arms, as if the shouts and noise had no effect on him. Why couldn’t he sleep like that when he was in the comfortable quiet of his own berthroom? Sparklings were such a mystery to Blurr sometimes.<br/><br/>Blurr tried to take him off Drift's hands, but Drift shook his head. "You've got a mess in here and it's still pretty packed," he said as he gave Echo a fond look. "I'll tuck him in."<br/><br/>"You know the code." Blurr offered a grateful smile.<br/><br/>Honestly, without Drift, he and Ricochet would have been a little lost. It was far more work than Blurr expected, to have a family, to raise a sparkling, to own a business, and then he'd let Ricochet have his way, and now they had another bitlet coming.<br/><br/>Maybe Ricochet was right. Maybe, despite the strain on their creds, Blurr ought to look into hiring more.<br/><br/>And Blurr would definitely never tell Ricochet that there was a very slim chance he'd been right about something. Ricochet would gloat for <em>months</em>, and then insist he deserved a reward.<br/><br/>Drift took Echo upstairs.<br/><br/>More mechs trickled out in twos and threes and various states of inebriation. Ricochet started clearing tables while keeping one optic on the door. Blurr looked at the sticky, empty state of everything behind the bar and started on it, while Jazz took care of the remaining customers and Riptide tackled the enormous stack of dirtied dishware.<br/><br/>It was a team effort. Given Poker night was a weekly thing, they had it down to an art.<br/><br/>Blurr let Riptide leave first, and Jazz second, neither of whom argued otherwise, and trudged out of the bar with all the energy Blurr felt. He couldn't blame them one bit. He was exhausted, his lower back ached, something sticky had spilled into his left knee assembly, and his audials were still ringing.<br/><br/>"Another successful poker night, if I do say so myself. Which I just did." Ricochet caught Blurr's arm and reeled him in for a kiss and a nuzzle. "I should have good ideas more often."<br/><br/>Blurr let himself relax into the kiss with a little sigh. "Pretty sure it was my idea," he said between kisses.<br/><br/>"Mm. Nope. It was mine." Ricochet nipped his bottom lip and took two handfuls of Blurr's aft, pulling them in for a grind. "It was torture tonight, not having the time to touch you."<br/><br/>"It's called working," Blurr reminded him, but the prickling warmth of Ricochet's field flowing over him made his sensornet hum to life. "Echo spends way too many creds."<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted a laugh. "Aye, he's a spoiled little bit. Drift might snatch him if we're not careful. Ratchet needs to get off the damn fence already."<br/><br/>Sometimes, it scared Blurr how much he and Ricochet thought in sync.<br/><br/>"We need to finish cleaning," Blurr said, making effort to slide out of Ricochet's arms, but his mate's grip tightened.<br/><br/>Ricochet nuzzled into his intake, lips and denta scraping a delicious pattern over the sensitive cables. "We own this place. I think we can put it off for a few minutes."<br/><br/>"We is a strong word. <em>You</em> need to stop throwing out customers if you want to start using 'we'," Blurr grumbled, but a shiver radiated down his backstrut, and warmth trickled into his array.<br/><br/>"Customers who can't keep their hands to themselves don't deserve to be customers," Ricochet growled, and he nipped at Blurr's intake, leaving the impression of a bite behind. "Quicken wasn't getting the picture, so I drew it for him."<br/><br/>Blurr internally sighed.<br/><br/>He'd put a pin in this discussion.<br/><br/>"We've got work to do," Blurr said and Ricochet kissed him, fierce and deep, like laying claim.<br/><br/>"First," Ricochet said as he dragged his hands up and down Blurr's frame, finding those sensory nexuses which never failed to weaken Blurr's knees. "First, I'm going to frag you until you forget all about those pesky irritations."<br/><br/>"Drift's in the apartment."<br/><br/>Ricochet hefted Blurr and set him on the nearest table in one easy motion. "Who said anything about going upstairs?"<br/><br/>"You can't be serious."<br/><br/>"Why not?" Ricochet smirked and slid his hands down Blurr's thighs, curving them around his knees, pushing them open so he could slide between them. "The bar's closed. Drift has Echo. We own the place. There's nothing and no one to stop us." He teased Blurr's knee joint, and Blurr groaned.<br/><br/>He really ought to protest more. "I'm not cleaning up," he said.<br/><br/>"Is that your only term?" Ricochet purred as he lowered himself to a kneel and tugged Blurr forward, until he was perched on the very edge of the table, Ricochet breathing damp heat over his closed panel.<br/><br/>Blurr licked his lips. "You have to erase the security footage."<br/><br/>Ricochet groaned and knocked his forehead against Blurr's inner thigh. "Can I keep a copy for myself?"<br/><br/>"That depends on how good of a job you do," Blurr challenged, and he commanded his panels to open, his spike half-pressurized, and his valve already seeping lubricant in small trickles.<br/><br/>Ricochet barked a laugh and smirked up at him. "You drive a hard bargain, Zippy, but I think I'm up to the task."<br/><br/>Blurr would have said something snippy in return, but of course, Ricochet chose that moment to put promise into practice, his mouth landing on Blurr's valve in a hot, wet swipe of glossa and denta. The gentlest of scrapes, the deepest of sucks, the wettest of licks.<br/><br/>Blurr groaned and wrapped his legs around Ricochet's head, rocking up into his partner's mouth, his primary node throbbing with intense need. Ricochet found it immediately, pinning it between his denta, flicking the tip of his glossa over it without mercy.<br/><br/>Blurr shouted, backstrut arching, a lightning bolt of pleasure zapping up his spinal strut. The table groaned, and he prayed to Primus it didn't break.<br/><br/>"More," Blurr demanded.<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled against his valve, the vibrations making Blurr's sensornet sing. Lights danced behind his optics as he scrabbled at Ricochet's shoulders, trying to gain some leverage for a satisfying grind against his mate's face. Sharpened denta scraped over his array, the perfect edge of gentle and rough, and bright sparks of ecstasy crawled through Blurr's lines.<br/><br/>He panted for vents, fans roaring, heat flashing through his frame. He was so much more sensitive when he was sparked, that much more quick to overload, and Ricochet was just Decepticon enough to keep taking advantage of it.<br/><br/>He licked and sucked, and laved such attention on Blurr's anterior node, that the pressure built and built and built until it erupted, and he bucked up sharply, riding Ricochet's mouth as he moaned through his overload. Ricochet chuckled, smug, but Blurr couldn't be bothered to care, not when he tingled from head to foot, and his valve pulsed with satisfaction.<br/><br/>Ricochet crawled up his frame. "Did I satisfy?" he asked, but didn’t give Blurr a chance to answer before his mouth covered Blurr's, and he tasted himself on Ricochet's glossa.<br/><br/>Hard heat nudged between his thighs, leaving streaks of pre-fluid along his inner plating. Blurr wound his legs around Ricochet's waist, reeled him in, canted his hips enough to catch the head of Ricochet's spike, his valve already cycling toward another overload.<br/><br/>"You're not done yet," Blurr said against his mouth.<br/><br/>Ricochet growled and snatched Blurr's hips, pulling him close but not close enough. "You drive such a hard bargain, Zippy," he growled, and thrust forward, sliding home in one deep thrust.<br/><br/>Lightning danced in Blurr's optics. He loosed a garbled cry, which might have been an expletive, it might have been Ricochet's designation. He scrabbled at Ricochet's back, hooked his fingers in transformation seams, and hauled his mate closer.<br/><br/>"Harder," Blurr demanded.<br/><br/>Ricochet huffed a laugh and gave him a fierce kiss. "That's my little masochist," he said and bit into Blurr's intake, hard enough to sting, as he started to thrust hard enough to rock the table, to make it creak and put up a mighty protest.<br/><br/>"Don't break my fragging table," Blurr gasped as charge licked up and down his frame, setting his sensor net alight. He worked his hips, trying to match Ricochet's thrusts, but without leverage, all he could do was lie on the table and take it.<br/><br/>Primus.<br/><br/>Blurr moaned, dizzy with sensation, little arcs of charge lighting up his valve, his array, his sensor net.<br/><br/>"It's our fragging table," Ricochet snapped, and drove into him, grinding hard against Blurr's ceiling node.<br/><br/>Blurr jerked, cables tightening, as overload took him again, sharper and longer this time, his valve spasming around Ricochet's spike, and his frame clamped tight around his mate's. Blurr's vision fritzed with static as he seized up in ecstasy, and then he sank into Ricochet's hold, spent and twitching.<br/><br/>Ricochet grinned, like a Sharkticon. "My turn," he said, and stole Blurr's mouth, fragging him even harder than before, the table giving loud squeaks of protest.<br/><br/>He was already close though. Blurr could tell by the frequency of Ricochet's denta sinking into his armor, leaving little scrapes and marks behind.<br/><br/>"Don't break me!" Blurr gasped as his back scraped the table, no doubt leaving a paint streak they'd have to scrub out.<br/><br/>"Not this time," Ricochet purred and buried his face against Blurr's intake and shoulder, seeking out tender cables. His denta clamped down, and Blurr moaned, his valve rippling.<br/><br/>It wasn't enough to send him over the edge again, but it left him floating in the hazy half-state of aroused and satiated all at once, and when the hot splash of Ricochet's overload flooded his sensitive inner nodes, Blurr's valve twitched in a game attempt at a release his system couldn't support.<br/><br/>"The things you do to me, Zippy," Ricochet murmured as he dragged his mouth to Blurr's, the kiss gentle considering the numerous denta marks no doubt ringing Blurr's intake.<br/><br/>"The mess you make of me," Blurr grumbled as he felt the slight seep of lubricant and transfluid from where they were joined.<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled and dragged his mouth down, pressing a light kiss to Blurr's rounded abdomen. He slid out of Blurr and replaced his spike with his hand, gently brushing one finger over Blurr's sensitive nub.<br/><br/>"I said I'll clean you up. I don't go back on my word, lover."<br/><br/>Blurr shivered and twisted away from the touch, shifting to plant one foot on Ricochet's chassis. "Cloth."<br/><br/>"My sensitive little Racer." Ricochet snatched his leg and pressed a kiss to Blurr's knee before patting it and lowering it back down. "Don't go anywhere. Be right back."<br/><br/>“You’d better.” Blurr shifted to get comfortable on the table. His table. Their table.<br/><br/>Eh.<br/><br/>He’d get used to that eventually.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Drift wasn't someone who preferred tidiness by any stretch of the imagination. But with Echo waiting on his bedtime story -- which he would only accept from Mama tonight -- and Blurr and Ricochet presumably downstairs still cleaning up, Drift didn't have anything to do but tidy.<br/><br/>So yes.<br/><br/>He cleaned the washrack, and picked up the main room, and straightened up the kitchen, and gathered up the laundry. He popped in to check on Echo who was fighting off recharge with every bolt and bracket in his being. He wanted to stay awake for his parents.<br/><br/>Drift couldn’t blame him.<br/><br/>He was in the middle of wiping down the main room when the door opened and Blurr and Ricochet came inside, the latter with a smug swagger.<br/><br/>Of course. That’s the reason they were late.<br/><br/>Drift rolled his optics and tossed the dustcloth toward the laundry bin. “If you actually paid me, this would be the part where I asked for overtime creds.”<br/><br/>“Really? When you make such a cute little housemech?” Ricochet flopped down on the couch and sprawled. “Maybe we should hire you full-time.”<br/><br/>Drift glared at him. “Frag you.” He looked at Blurr instead. “Echo is waiting on a bedtime story. Apparently, only Mama would do.”<br/><br/>Blurr, for the first time, perked up. “He actually asked for me?”<br/><br/>“He’s a bitlet. I told you he’d forget he’s mad at you,” Ricochet said.<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics. “Why don’t you go back downstairs and finish cleaning up?” he said before he disappeared into Echo’s room, and a delighted squeal came pealing.<br/><br/>Drift laughed quietly. Echo was so adorable. It was unfair he had such an aft for a sire.<br/><br/>Well, maybe Drift was being unfair to Ricochet. He was an excellent sire to Echo. Drift’s dislike of Ricochet was simply because they rubbed each other the wrong way.<br/><br/>“I’m out,” Drift said, already heading for the door. He had no interest in hanging around with Ricochet. Besides, Ratchet would be home soon, and he didn’t want to miss that.<br/><br/>"Sure I can't entice you to turn that housemech intuition toward the bar?" Ricochet asked as he sidled alongside Drift, not so much seeing him out as obeying Blurr's request to finish cleaning.<br/><br/>"No, thanks," Drift said.<br/><br/>Ricochet laughed. "Well, I tried." He clapped Drift on the shoulder, and Drift flicked his armor out from under Ricochet's hand. "See you later."<br/><br/>Drift lifted his chin, and parted ways with Ricochet at the base of the rampwell, leaving through the side door of New Maccadam's and locking it behind him with the code Blurr had set up for Drift's use. It paid to know the boss.<br/><br/>Drift went home, to the apartment he shared with Ratchet, not but a stone's throw from the medical center. They had a ground floor suite so Ratchet could more easily respond to emergencies. He wasn't the only medic on Cybertron, but he liked to think he was, and Ratchet was a bit of a workaholic.<br/><br/>A little less as of late, but still.<br/><br/>The apartment was dark. A bit chilly. Had that feeling of emptiness to it. Ratchet wasn't home, despite the fact he should have been. Emergencies were less common in a post-war Cybertron, but common enough to disrupt Drift's plans.<br/><br/>Drift sighed and flicked on the lights, shoulders sinking a little at the mess. Maybe there was something to Ricochet's teasing, he thought as he started to tidy up. It did seem like he spent an awful lot of time cleaning up after other people.<br/><br/>Then again, if they ever got sparked, he supposed he'd be doing a lot more cleaning. Sparklings were messy. It was some kind of miracle how quickly they made a mess.<br/><br/>By the time Drift tidied, consumed some energon, and nearly fell into recharge on the couch while watching the nightly news, Ratchet hadn't come home. Comming his non-emergency line went straight to voicemail. Drift left a message though he doubted Ratchet would return it, and crawled into their berth, flopping into the plush mattress.<br/><br/>It had been Ratchet's gift to him, this mattress, and it never failed to put a smile on Drift's face. He didn't know berths could be this comfortable until Ratchet had this mattress custom made for him.<br/><br/>“You deserve nice things,” he'd said in that gruff, dismissive way of his, but his field had wafted love and devotion. Drift knew what he really meant.<br/><br/>It made his spark fill with warmth.<br/><br/>Drift snuggled down into the mattress and dozed, half his sensors on alert, waiting for Ratchet's return. He didn't expect to actually fall asleep, but taking care of Echo had a tendency to drain his energy, and when he next swam to consciousness, it was to Ratchet sliding into the berth beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek.<br/><br/>Drift hummed and curled into his mate's chest. "Emergency?"<br/><br/>"Depends on who you ask. Good news is, Knock Out owes me a favor."<br/><br/>Drift chuckled. The rivalry between Ratchet and the former Decepticon surgeon was becoming the stuff of legend.<br/><br/>"We'll have to think of a good use for that." Drift tilted his head up and caught the next kiss on his lips. Ratchet tasted like energon, and he smelled like he'd washed up before coming home. "Missed you."<br/><br/>Ratchet sank down into the berth and pulled Drift into the cradle of his frame. "Sorry. I know I said I was going to try and stick to my schedule from now on."<br/><br/>"Well. We can't account for Knock Out."<br/><br/>"True. How's Echo?"<br/><br/>"Still going through a phase. Still spoiled. Still impossibly adorable." Drift shifted until he was atop Ratchet, straddling his mate's frame, his arms folded across Ratchet's chassis and his chin resting on his crossed wrists. "And I still haven't changed my mind."<br/><br/>It was a good sign when Ratchet's hands found his hips and slid down to cup his aft. An even better sign when Ratchet shifted to give Drift a better seat. There was no fatigue in his field.<br/><br/>All very promising.<br/><br/>"Good," Ratchet said, and his lips curved with something a bit like mischief, which so few got to see. "Because I have."<br/><br/>Drift perked. "Really?" He narrowed his optics. "Don't tease me, Ratchet."<br/><br/>Ratchet squeezed his aft and rocked up a little. The heat of his array became tangible. "I wouldn't about something like this. I mean it, Drift." His optics darkened with growing arousal. "I think we're ready."<br/><br/>"You mean, you're ready. I've been ready since before Echo was born," Drift pointed out, unable to help himself just a smidge. He did shift, enough to meet Ratchet's slow rocks with little grinds of his own. "We should get started now."<br/><br/>"I still have to deactivate your shunt and remove the cap," Ratchet reminded him.<br/><br/>"First thing tomorrow." Drift sat up, shifted forward to kiss Ratchet before settling back on top of Ratchet's hips, grinding down slow and sensual. "Consider this a practice run."<br/><br/>"I thought we'd gotten enough practice already." Ratchet thrust up against him, and the wet, hot slide of a pressurized spike skated over Drift's valve cover. "I think we're experts by now."<br/><br/>Drift chuckled and popped his panel, angling his hips to catch Ratchet's spike and immediately sink down on it. They groaned in unison, Drift's fingers curling into a transformation seam on Ratchet's abdomen.<br/><br/>"Practice makes perfect," he said, and started to move, up and down, side to side, little swivels of his hips which he knew Ratchet loved. That it resulted in Ratchet's spike grinding over and over his ceiling node, well, that was just happenstance. Purely coincidental.<br/><br/>Drift vented a moan, shivers crawling up and down his spinal strut.<br/><br/>"You're already perfect," Ratchet murmured, his hands sweeping up and down Drift's sides, his hips, his aft, his upper thighs. He traced sensory patterns in Drift's armor, like the highly skilled medic he was, drawing lines of dermal pleasure to make Drift's head spin.<br/><br/>Or maybe that was Ratchet's sweetness, always given in these quiet moments, and Drift's spark throbbed even harder with affection.<br/><br/>Drift's valve tightened, and he rocked harder, faster, his vents coming in sharp bursts. "You're not going to change your mind, right? You really want this?"<br/><br/>Ratchet reached up, cupped his cheek, drew him down for a slow and sweet kiss, his other hand sweeping in to thumb Drift's anterior nub with the perfect circling pressure.<br/><br/>"I want this with you," Ratchet murmured.<br/><br/>Drift shivered, hips jerking toward the pleasure of Ratchet's thumb and the pulsing charge of Ratchet's spike, perfectly thick to graze over the inner nodes.<br/><br/>"We're going to have a family," he said quietly, joy bubbling up in his spark. He kissed Ratchet, a bit more fiercely this time, the pleasure twisting and coiling inside of him, threatening to burst. "You and me and a little sparkling that'll look like us."<br/><br/>Ratchet cupped his face and pulled him in for another kiss, slow and gentle and loving. "Yes, we are."<br/><br/>Overload came to Drift not in a burst, but in a slow, building throb that started in his groin and spread throughout his entire frame. He sighed against Ratchet's mouth, lights bursting behind his optics. Ratchet kissed and stroked him through it, drawing out the pleasure, and Drift's entire frame tingled.<br/><br/>He rocked his hips, slow and grinding, squeezing down as he did so, knowing how Ratchet liked it best. Nothing made Ratchet go off faster than a long, languorus grind, so Drift gave it to him. And yes, admittedly, it had the added benefit of pulling another gentle overload from Drift, and he shuddered through a second release as Ratchet spilled inside of him.<br/><br/>"I love you," Drift breathed against Ratchet's lips.<br/><br/>Ratchet didn't say it back. He rarely did. But the way he held Drift, kissed him so soft and sweet, that spoke more than enough.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleeping in was an absolute rarity for Blurr. But the day after poker night was the only day of the week he could be reassured the bar would be slow, and he could afford to take a day off, leaving it in Jazz and Riptide's very capable hands. Possibly Drift's if he wanted as well.<br/><br/>By the time Blurr dragged himself out of the berth, it was heading toward midday. Ricochet was out, probably with friends, Blurr didn't ask. He was, after all, allowed to have a social life outside of his family, and Blurr didn't question him on it.<br/><br/>Blurr had enough time for a quick rinse and gulping down energon before he had to rush out the door and make straight for the medical tower, lest he miss his appointment with Ratchet, who had no tolerance for lateness.<br/><br/>Luckily, he wasn't so far along that the sparking had affected his speed. Yet. But he knew that would be coming sooner rather than later.<br/><br/>Ricochet was damn lucky Blurr loved him so much. He hated what his frame went through while carrying.<br/><br/>Blurr arrived with seconds to spare, and Ratchet gave him a grunt of welcome and led Blurr into the examination room.<br/><br/>"Any complaints?" Ratchet asked.<br/><br/>"Nothing more than the usual." Blurr hauled himself up into the exam chair and prepared himself for the inevitable series of scans.<br/><br/>"That's a good sign." Ratchet directed several machines toward Blurr and switched them on, the rumbling hum filling the room with ambient noise. "The first carry is always the hardest, so you got that out of the way."<br/><br/>"And this time, my life isn't in danger."<br/><br/>Ratchet snorted a laugh. "Right." He produced a datapad and started to skim the screen, stylus flicking as he made notations. "Looks like you're in good health. Your gestational tank is firmly seated, and I'm not reading any distress from... Rebound, right?"<br/><br/>"Yeah."<br/><br/>Ricochet had named their second as well. Blurr couldn't find any fault in either of their bitlet's names, and he suspected these were designations Ricochet had been harboring for a long time. But, if Blurr decided to go crazy and have a third, he'd already called dibs on picking the name.<br/><br/>"Ricochet's idea, I take it. He'll never cease to surprise me. He makes an amazing sire," Ratchet said, almost offhand, as he continued to read the results from Blurr's numerous read-outs.<br/><br/>"You know who else would make a good sire or carrier?" Blurr asked leadingly. He gave Ratchet a pointed look. "Your mate."<br/><br/>Ratchet sighed and narrowed his optics. "Don't you start with me."<br/><br/>"I'm just saying. He's amazing with Echo. I know he'd be even better with a sparkling of his own," Blurr pointed out, because Drift had been of great help to him, and if he could convince Ratchet in even the smallest way, it would be the best way to return that kindness.<br/><br/>"I already know he'd make a great caretaker. This isn't about Drift," Ratchet said, but there was a sharpness to his tone and to his field, as if Blurr had stumbled into a sore spot. "We need to talk about you. The first carry might be easiest, but the second extraction will be harder on your frame."<br/><br/>Blurr twisted his jaw, but decided it was better not to poke Ratchet when he was discussing future surgeries. "About that, can we consider the possibility of a valve birth?"<br/><br/>Ratchet pursed his lips and leaned over, switching off one of the scanners and dulling the background noise. "It's not impossible, but it's risky. It won't save you on recovery time either."<br/><br/>"But it <em>is</em> possible."<br/><br/>"Yes." Ratchet tapped the end of the stylus against his datapad. "I'll look into it, discuss with Hoist and Knock Out. If you're serious about wanting to try this, I want to ensure we do it as safely as possible."<br/><br/>Blurr nodded. "If it's medically unsound, we'll understand." He used we because it was something he and Ricochet had both discussed. "And Ricochet would like to participate this time."<br/><br/>"If he can behave, he's welcome." Ratchet snorted, and a touch of amusement entered his field.<br/><br/>"He'll behave."<br/><br/>"Then by all means." Ratchet paused and tapped the stylus again before raising his orbital ridges. "Bring him to the next appointment so we can talk about policy and procedure. If he can get through that, we'll discuss the rest."<br/><br/>Blurr laughed despite himself. "You know, he does that to get a rise out of you." And because he was a bit of a worrywart when it came to Blurr, Echo, and Rebound. Ricochet was fiercely protective of his family.<br/><br/>Blurr loved him for that.<br/><br/>"I'm aware. It's something he and Rodimus have in common." Ratchet's face grew a little dark and he shifted his attention to another screen. "You'd think with Cybertron the way it is, Rodimus would have matured a bit more."<br/><br/>"It's just that he's not Optimus is all," Blurr said, and well, he was a bit biased. He'd never gotten to know Optimus as well as he did Rodimus, and on a personal level, he liked the way Rodimus had taken leadership of the Autobots.<br/><br/>Besides.<br/><br/>He strongly suspected that if Optimus had remained in charge, the war might never have ended. Same with Megatron sticking around. The war, the Autobots versus Decepticons, both were intrinsically tied to Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron.<br/><br/>"I like the idea of the New Senate," Blurr added, though he made a face of disgust. "I think they ought to change the name of it though. No one has any good thoughts about the previous one."<br/><br/>Ratchet sighed. “I agree. And to make matters worse, Rodimus asked me to serve on it."<br/><br/>Blurr's forehead furrowed. "I thought it was going to be democratic, you know, like voting people in."<br/><br/>"It is. He wants me to run. He thinks I'm guaranteed a win."<br/><br/>"Well..." Blurr twisted his jaw as he thought about it, drumming his fingers on his knees. Ratchet was well-respected across factional lines, and well-liked despite his occasionally grumpy nature. "He's not wrong. I'd vote for you."<br/><br/>Ratchet made a non-committal noise. He tapped the end of the stylus again and shut off another scanner. "And you think others would, too?"<br/><br/>"Yeah, actually. What does Drift think?"<br/><br/>"He doesn't want either of us to get involved with politics. I think it's too late for that. We're political by our existence." Ratchet shut off the last scanner, dropping the exam room into a tense silence, save for their systems clicking and whirring away.<br/><br/>"And better you than Knock Out," Blurr pointed out, thinking of the ex-Decepticon surgeon whose bedside manner could use a lot of work. "Do you want to be on the New Senate?"<br/><br/>"That's a good question." Ratchet hooked a stool with his foot and dragged it closer, lowering onto it. "Post-war Cybertron is a little..."<br/><br/>"Boring?" Blurr suggested.<br/><br/>Ratchet gave Blurr a sidelong glance. "You ever miss the war?"<br/><br/>"Not the almost-dying part, but the rest..." Blurr pressed his lips together, rapping his fingers on his thigh. "It was exciting. Peace is a bit of a letdown after that. I miss being a Wrecker. I miss racing even more."<br/><br/>"Life a little too domestic?" Ratchet asked with a wry grin.<br/><br/>"How'd you guess?" Blurr chuckled. "Look, I love my family and my bar, but you know, I was sparked a Racer, to constantly challenge myself and win. Peace is good and all, but it's a little too..."<br/><br/>"Safe," Ratchet finished for him. "Though given what happened with Whipstrike and the anti-Decepticon rumors, maybe safe is an overstatement."<br/><br/>"Someone like you on the Senate could help fix that," Blurr pointed out.<br/><br/>Ratchet snorted and made a notation on his datapad. "I could also suggest bringing back the racing circuits."<br/><br/>Blurr's spark skipped a revolution, excitement sending a surge of charge through his lines before he could tamp it down. "I suppose," he hedged, trying to hide his enthusiasm. He patted the round of his abdomen. "Not that I'm in any shape to compete right now."<br/><br/>"Right now, no. But that'll change soon enough. If anything, having two sparklings will get you into shape rather quickly," Ratchet said with a bark of a laugh. "It's something to think about. We have to figure out how to live in this peace eventually."<br/><br/>"That's true," Blurr conceded, though his enthusiasm tempered itself. Quicken had been trying to push him into wanting to race again because it was his destiny or some slag.<br/><br/>He did miss it. Blurr just didn't want someone who didn't know him to tell him what was best.<br/><br/>"Who knows, maybe I can bring it up at the next open forum. It seems like the kind of thing Rodimus would go for," Blurr said.<br/><br/>Ratchet chuckled and tucked away the datapad. "Well, as far as I can tell, you're good, Rebound is doing well, and I'll find out about the valve delivery and get back to it."<br/><br/>"Are you done with me?" Blurr asked as he hopped down from the berth, stretching his arms over his head, and trying to ignore the twinge in his lower back.<br/><br/>"For now."<br/><br/>"Next month then?"<br/><br/>Ratchet thumbed his chin, optics dim in consideration. "Week after next. If you're serious about changing to a valve birth."<br/><br/>"Week after next it is. Thanks, Ratchet."<br/><br/>Ratchet grunted and waved him out. "Don't need to thank me for doing my job."<br/><br/>"I'm going to do it anyway."<br/><br/>"Brat."<br/><br/>Blurr laughed and scooted out, though he nearly collided with Drift at the door, who had an armful of packages. "You're not working today?"<br/><br/>"Jazz wanted my shift." Drift shrugged and gave Blurr a keen look. "Everything okay?"<br/><br/>"Normal appointment. Nothing to worry about." Blurr patted him on the shoulder, reading the concern in the jagged burst of Drift's field. "Promise."<br/><br/>Drift's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank Primus."<br/><br/>"You're sweet." Blurr chuckled and made his escape, catching the tail end of Ratchet and Drift sappily greeting each other. Newlymated they weren't anymore, but one couldn't tell it.<br/><br/>Blurr went home, thinking longingly of a heavy lunch and a long nap and an even longer soak in the oil tub without mate or sparkling to disturb him. The apartment would be quiet and peaceful, and he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he possibly could.<br/><br/>He loved his family. He truly did. Sometimes, he just needed a little space.<br/><br/>Blurr opted to use the back-lift rather than go in through New Maccadam’s. If he stepped one foot into his bar, someone would need him for something, and he didn't want that headache right now. If it was truly an emergency, they knew who to dial. Petty grievances could be solved on a day that wasn't today.<br/><br/>His armor prickled when he started to put in the code. Blurr hit the clear button and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean there wasn't anyone there. He could be paranoid, he supposed, though what happened with Whipstrike had made him so.<br/><br/>There was nothing wrong with being cautious.<br/><br/>Blurr waited for a full minute, scanning the area behind him, but there was no movement, no sign he was being watched. Nothing.<br/><br/>Maybe he was paranoid after all.<br/><br/>He input the code, careful to block it from potentially prying optics, and led it scan his metrics before the door granted him access. He didn't feel completely at ease until the door closed behind him, and he engaged the security system, double-checking that the surveillance cameras were active.<br/><br/>He'd review the footage later with Ricochet's help, as Ricochet had more practice in spotting potential threats. He would also have Ricochet change the code, just in case.<br/><br/>For now, he refused to let paranoia rule his life. He had a long, relaxing soak calling his name.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Jazz was a wreck.<br/><br/>Bluestreak decided he quite liked him that way. Exhausted. Spent. Covered in fluids. Shivering and hot, his engine purring satisfaction, his field clinging to Bluestreak's with tendrils of adoration.<br/><br/>They needed to spend time like this more often.<br/><br/>"I've neglected you, haven't I, pet?"<br/><br/>Jazz moaned and canted his hips up toward Bluestreak's fingers, seeking a firmer touch to his anterior node, where Bluestreak flirted around the housing, but ignored the swollen nub. Jazz's spike was spent, unable to pressurize any further, but Bluestreak knew Jazz's limitations. He was quite sure there was one more overload charge left crackling within Jazz's valve.<br/><br/>Bluestreak wanted it. And Jazz was going to give it to him.<br/><br/>"You can answer me. It's all right," Bluestreak murmured as he rocked his hips, nudging his spike within Jazz's valve, but less thrusting and more reminding Jazz of its presence.<br/><br/>Jazz crackled a whine and rocked his hips. "Need you, Blue."<br/><br/>"Yes, I know." Bluestreak soothed Jazz with a stroke to his housing and delicately brushed the pad of his thumb over Jazz's anterior nub.<br/><br/>Jazz keened, back arching, his valve clamping down tight on Bluestreak's spike, milking it. His vents roared, his field lashing through the room in a hungry flurry.<br/><br/>"There's one more in you, I think," Bluestreak murmured and kept stroking, long and slow circles designed to build and build and build, while Jazz's wrists rattled the spy-proof manacles keeping them bound above his head.<br/><br/>Primus, he was gorgeous, and he was all Bluestreak's. How had he gotten so lucky?<br/><br/>"Will you give it to me, pet?" Bluestreak crooned and wrapped his free hand around Jazz's hip, pulling him down to meet each forward rock.<br/><br/>Charge crackled along Jazz's armor. His visor flared. He garbled static which might have been an affirmative, given the frantic fluttering of his valve. Bluestreak knew, by the pitch of Jazz's engine, he was close.<br/><br/>"Or maybe I shouldn't bother asking," Bluestreak purred as he shifted his weight, trapping Jazz beneath him, notching his spike deeper. "Maybe I should demand it."<br/><br/>Jazz made a wordless sound and thrashed beneath Bluestreak, lubricant seeping rapidly from his valve, his array burning hot under Bluestreak's fingers.<br/><br/>"Please," Jazz begged on the end of a staticky vent.<br/><br/>Bluestreak thumbed his nub in tight circles over and over and over, as heat flooded Jazz's frame and he arched his backstrut.<br/><br/>"Give it to me," Bluestreak demanded, his tone sharp. "Now."<br/><br/>And Jazz did.<br/><br/>His lips parted in a soundless scream. His head tossed back, thighs clamped against Bluestreak's sides, his valve spiraling down tight as charge erupted over his frame.<br/><br/>Bluestreak grabbed his hips and fragged Jazz through it, his spike plunging into the narrow, grasping channel. Sound tore from Jazz's throat, a keen of pleasure, his frame going limp in Bluestreak's hold -- complete surrender.<br/><br/>Gorgeous.<br/><br/>Bluestreak tipped over the edge, slamming deep, spilling into Jazz as his vision briefly spritzed with static. He leaned into Jazz, caught his swollen lips for a kiss, and Jazz panted against his mouth, field fuzzy with satisfaction.<br/><br/>"Mmm," Jazz hummed, which was a very good sign in Bluestreak's opinion.<br/><br/>"Good?"<br/><br/>"Yes, sir," Jazz slurred. His thighs twitched against Bluestreak's hips before he went lax again, engine purring and field clinging to Bluestreak's with warm affection.<br/><br/>"Proud of you," Bluestreak murmured. He nuzzled Jazz's cheek with his own before he leaned up.<br/><br/>First to go were the cuffs. He tucked them in subspace and slowly lowered Jazz's arms, watching for signs of discomfort in Jazz's face or venting. When none showed, Bluestreak massaged into the joints of Jazz's shoulders, soothing the sore cables. Jazz purred and his field echoed the satisfaction.<br/><br/>Clean up was next.<br/><br/>Bluestreak kissed Jazz as he pulled out, his spark aching a little at the noise of protest Jazz made.<br/><br/>"Gotta get you clean, pet," Bluestreak murmured as he stroked Jazz's intake and soothed his departure with little kisses and caresses. "We don't want fluids to gunk up your joints."<br/><br/>"Gunk," Jazz echoed and snorted a laugh. "You're so cute."<br/><br/>"I'm a dangerous and deadly sniper," Bluestreak corrected, but he planted a kiss on Jazz's nasal ridge and watched him squirm away from it with a chuckle.<br/><br/>He leaned over and dragged a nearby table closer, grabbing the damp meshcloths and cleaners from it.<br/><br/>"Always prepared," Jazz commented, his visor dim as he watched Bluestreak.<br/><br/>"It's my responsibility to be." Bluestreak swiped the cloth over his lover, gentle when he cleaned Jazz's swollen and sensitive array, wiping up the fluids before they had a chance to congeal and make a worse mess. "I like to take good care of my pets."<br/><br/>Jazz chuckled and shifted a little, to spread his thighs further, and Bluestreak bent down, pressing a soft kiss to his main anterior cluster. Jazz breathed a sigh.<br/><br/>"So pretty," Bluestreak murmured.<br/><br/>"Are you trying to get me clean or get me dirtier?"<br/><br/>Bluestreak grinned and got back to work, swiping up the last of the mess on Jazz before he hastily wiped at himself. He'd get the rest later in the washrack.<br/><br/>"Bit of both," he said, and gathered Jazz into his arms, notching their frames together in all the best curves and angles. He still marveled how perfectly Jazz fit into the geometry of his frame. "Feel better?"<br/><br/>"Yeah." Jazz tucked his face against Bluestreak's intake, his hands hooking into transformation seams. "You're a hard mech to catch these days."<br/><br/>Bluestreak made a non-committal noise and stroked Jazz's back, along his strut, which was a particularly sensitive zone. "Prowl keeps me busy."<br/><br/>"I'm sure he does."<br/><br/>Bluestreak noted the sour tone, but chose not to comment on it. It had been years since the whole incident with Whipstrike and Prowl using Ricochet against Jazz, but Jazz was good at holding a grudge.<br/><br/>"Any luck finding the head of the snake?" Jazz asked.<br/><br/>"No. I'm beginning to think it's not as organized as Prowl believes it is." Bluestreak swallowed a frustrated sigh and bit his glossa, lest he bring up an old argument. Besides, he knew better than to start such things post-session.<br/><br/>"Have you shared that theory?"<br/><br/>"I think you know the answer to that." Bluestreak sighed and cupped the back of Jazz's neck, thumb stroking a primary energon line. "I need proof. Concrete evidence."<br/><br/>"Funny that you do and Prowl doesn't," Jazz muttered.<br/><br/>Bluestreak pretended not to hear that either.<br/><br/>It was also the moment his comm decided to chime at him, which it shouldn't have done since he had it set to forward all attempts at communication to his voicemail. There was only one person who could have overridden that directive.<br/><br/>Bluestreak sighed.<br/><br/>"What is it?"<br/><br/>"Prowl," he said, and tapped his comms. "I'm off-shift right now, sir. I remember you specifically stating I've been working too much overtime."<br/><br/>"I know, and I do apologize," Prowl said, and if Bluestreak squinted, he might even believe Prowl sounded apologetic. "But I have a lead, and it's time-sensitive."<br/><br/>"How time-sensitive?"<br/><br/>"In the next few hours."<br/><br/>Bluestreak muttered a curse where Prowl couldn't hear him as Jazz tensed in his arms, going as warm and welcoming as a sheet of duryllium. "How reliable is the source?"<br/><br/>"Very."<br/><br/>Damn it.<br/><br/>"Send me the details. I'll check it out ASAP."<br/><br/>"Already done. Good luck."<br/><br/>The comm ended. Bluestreak tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling, running a string of obscenities through the back of his mind but not letting any of them fall to his glossa.<br/><br/>"Let me guess," Jazz drawled, "Duty calls."<br/><br/>"You know how it is," Bluestreak said as Jazz shifted up, moving to straddle him rather than lying comfortably in Bluestreak's arms.<br/><br/>His armor had slicked tight to his protoform, and only wisps of his field were tangible now. Jazz was furious, though the casual observer couldn't tell, unless they noticed the tight line of tension in his dangerous smile.<br/><br/>"I know how Prowl is," Jazz said. "He did this on purpose."<br/><br/>Bluestreak sighed and scrubbed his forehead. "You know that's not true. Sources talk only when they feel like it, which is often inconvenient to us. And since I have no leads, no evidence, zip, zilch, and nada, I can't afford to ignore the possibility this might be legit."<br/><br/>"Sources talk in their own time. Prowl holds on ta his info until it's convenient for him."<br/><br/>"I'm not having this argument with you right now." Or again, Bluestreak should add. It was a source of friction for them, that Bluestreak had taken the job Jazz abandoned, that he was willing to work with Prowl, and Jazz was unwilling to do it.<br/><br/>Jazz shifted off him, field turning to razorwire. "Who's arguing? I'm stating a fact. Prowl uses the mechs around him, and you're letting him use you."<br/><br/>Bluestreak's inbox pinged with the datapacket, and Bluestreak opened it, choosing instead to skim the contents rather than join the "statement of fact." He probably didn't have time for a full rinse in the washrack, not if this information was accurate.<br/><br/>"Who's going as your back up?" Jazz demanded.<br/><br/>"It's recon. I don't need it," Bluestreak answered, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say, by the brief but volcanic burst of Jazz's field.<br/><br/>He launched himself off the bed, visibly vibrating with tension. "That's pitslag. I'm going with you."<br/><br/>Bluestreak swung his legs over the berth, planting his feet on the ground. "This isn't your job anymore, remember? You quit."<br/><br/>"I don't need to a badge to back up my partner," Jazz snapped.<br/><br/>"For this, you do." It took all Bluestreak had to keep his voice calm and even. "It's an official assignment. It's my job. The one you resigned."<br/><br/>Jazz snapped, "For good reason."<br/><br/>"And I have a good reason for keeping it." Bluestreak pushed himself to his feet, his sensory panels settling across his back. "You know you're not going to convince me otherwise."<br/><br/>Jazz drew taut, his frame whipcord tense. "Prowl's gonna get you killed."<br/><br/>"No, he's not." Bluestreak reached for Jazz, but his partner twisted out of the way, and Bluestreak knew better than to give chase when Jazz was in a mood.<br/><br/>Instead, Bluestreak sighed and moved toward the door. "I'll be back in a bit."<br/><br/>Jazz folded his arms. "Good for you. I'll probably be out."<br/><br/>With Ricochet, Bluestreak hoped. That would be the preferable outcome as Ricochet would know how to handle his twin in this state. And it meant Jazz was less likely to get into trouble -- such as poking his nose into Bluestreak's investigation out of some intent to "help."<br/><br/>He'd have to warn Ricochet about the hurricane heading his way. And wipe himself down on the way as well, since staying in this apartment to do so was not a good idea.<br/><br/>"I'll check in as often as I can," Bluestreak said over his shoulder.<br/><br/>"And if you don't, I know who to come after first," Jazz growled, and Bluestreak tried to ignore the cold shiver up his spinal strut.<br/><br/>He wondered if somewhere, on the other side of the city, Prowl felt the shiver, too. Jazz was making no idle threat, and they might be in a time of peace, but that didn't mean Jazz was no longer dangerous.<br/><br/>"I'll stay in touch," Bluestreak promised, and he took his leave, disquiet in his spark which he fought to push down. He needed to focus. He trusted Prowl, but he doubted this source, and he doubted this lead would bring him to anything more than a dead end.<br/><br/>This was what he wanted to do, however, and Jazz would just have to understand that.<br/><br/>Eventually.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricochet woke a half klik before his internal alarm triggered, and dismissed the sharp whistle before it could ruin his lazy morning. There was a sleepy Racer cuddled against him, vents whuffling in his recharge, and Ricochet was in no hurry to disturb his mate.<br/><br/>Well.<br/><br/>Maybe a little.<br/><br/>Ricochet grinned and stroked his hand down Blurr's spinal strut, fingers teasing the node cluster he knew Blurr liked best.<br/><br/>A muffled noise rose from his Racer, Blurr shifting in his arms, but rather than toward Ricochet, it was away from him. His field buzzed irritation.<br/><br/>"Tired," Blurr grumbled.<br/><br/>"Too tired to say good morning?" Ricochet asked as he nuzzled into the nape of Blurr's neck, lips caressing a bite he'd left last night.<br/><br/>"Blame Rebound," Blurr said as he squirmed away with a noise of protest which shouldn't have been so adorable.<br/><br/>Ah. So it was that point of the carry. Ricochet's lack of morning sex was partially his own fault.<br/><br/>It was worth it.<br/><br/>"He's too cute to blame," Ricochet said with a gentle rub of his palm over Blurr's rounding abdomen. He pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek before he rolled off the berth. "I'll get Echo off to school. You work tonight, right?"<br/><br/>Blurr grunted.<br/><br/>Ricochet took that as a yes.<br/><br/>He left his grumpy mate to snore in the berth and braced himself for the second grumpy face. Echo took after Blurr when it came to mornings. He was slow to wake, slow to get ready, slow to do anything that meant he had to get up.<br/><br/>"Rise and shine, bitlet," Ricochet sang as he flipped on the overhead light and picked his way across a toy-strewn floor to the lump of sparkling under a blanket.<br/><br/>It growled at him.<br/><br/>Ricochet stifled a laugh and unburied his kid. "Time for school," he said as Echo grumpily flopped back into the berth.<br/><br/>"I"m tired, Daddy," he said.<br/><br/>"Well, maybe you shouldn't have stayed up all night partying." Ricochet hefted Echo out of the berth and tucked him on a hip.<br/><br/>Echo rubbed at his optics and laid his head on Ricochet's shoulder. "No school today. I'll stay home with you."<br/><br/>"School is non-negotiable. You're going to take that big processor of yours and do something with yourself."<br/><br/>"Aww."<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled and got settled in the kitchen with some energon in a sippy. Echo had a habit of spilling on himself so the sippy was necessary. They were working on his hand-optic coordination.<br/><br/>"Are you going to behave today?" Ricochet asked as he eyed his contrary bitlet. "No biting the other kiddos, got it?"<br/><br/>"You bite me all the time. How's he supposed to know better?" Blurr grumbled as he shuffled into the room like some kind of zombie. He paused to plant a kiss on Echo's head, and this time, Echo didn't try to squirm away from him.<br/><br/>Progress!<br/><br/>"Good point. Only bite adults, and when you're an adult," Ricochet said in a stern voice.<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics.<br/><br/>Echo finished his energon with a loud slurp and smack of his lips, dropping the empty sippy onto the table. "Only bite adults," he said.<br/><br/>"Eh. Close enough," Ricochet said as he tossed the cube toward the sink and scrubbed a cloth over Echo's mouth. "How do you always get so messy?"<br/><br/>"Not messy," Echo muttered.<br/><br/>"Very messy." Ricochet swept his bitlet up onto his hip again and cast around for Echo's school bag, trying to remember where he dropped it last night.<br/><br/>Blurr tapped him with it in the side.<br/><br/>"You're the best," Ricochet said, and reeled his mate in for a kiss before Blurr could shuffle away, fatigue clinging to his field in every pulse. "Now go back to berth." He patted Blurr on the aft to make his point.<br/><br/>"I'm going. Have fun at school, Echo." Blurr planted a kiss on Echo's cheek, and Echo actually grabbed him for a hug, which warmed Ricochet's spark.<br/><br/>"Bye, Mama!"<br/><br/>Echo waved as they went out the door. He really was a good kid. Just had his cables in a knot over the brother he'd have to share his parents with. He'd get over it.<br/><br/>Ricochet dropped him off at school, showering Echo's face in kisses, much to his bitlet's embarrassment. But he laughed as he pushed Ricochet away, and scampered off to class, ignoring Ricochet's shout at him to behave.<br/><br/>Now for the next misbehaving creature on his list.<br/><br/>It was a quick jaunt a few blocks to over to another housing complex. It was about ninety percent Autobot, though few folk wore their badges anymore. Ricochet still knew an Autobot when he saw one. Just like he knew one of those useless Neutrals, and he absolutely knew a Decepticon. There were some things that couldn't be shaken, no matter the peace.<br/><br/>It must be the reason for the unease creeping into his sensors.<br/><br/>Ricochet glanced over his shoulder and performed a subtle perimeter sweep, but no one seemed to be paying him more attention than they ought. He checked the windows of the apartment buildings to his left and right, but couldn't see anyone peering out from them.<br/><br/>It felt like there were eyes on him, but there was no one there. Just like there hadn't been anyone in the security footage Blurr asked him to check. Customers, yes. The occasional staggering drunk, too frequent for Ricochet's comfort. But threats?<br/><br/>None.<br/><br/>Which was even more suspicious. It's too peaceful, too quiet. Or maybe he's too paranoid.<br/><br/>Ricochet clenched his jaw. Paranoia might be irrational, but it kept mechs alive. Kept them on their feet instead of dying on their knees.<br/><br/>He was warier than usual as he entered the apartment complex and took the lift to the fifteenth floor, but none of the former Autobots gave him a sideways look, so he supposed there was nothing to worry about. No one was supposed to be armed anyway, unless they were one of the sanctioned officers.<br/><br/>Ricochet was armed; he was not a sanctioned officer. No one had to know.<br/><br/>He pulled out his key card and let himself into Bluestreak's apartment that he technically shared with Jazz, when Jazz wasn't sleeping elsewhere while having a fit of terrified commitment. Inside, it was clean and bright, with the faintest whiff of cleaning solution in the air.<br/><br/>Someone was either stressed or being punished.<br/><br/>"Jazz?"<br/><br/>His brother popped out of the washrack holding a spraybottle and a scrubber. "What're you doin' here?" he asked with evident grump and the absolute wrong tone of voice.<br/><br/>"Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?" Ricochet asked as he followed Jazz back into the washrack, where he tossed the scrubber into a bucket and grabbed the rack nozzle, rinsing out the interior.<br/><br/>Stress, Ricochet decided, given the way Jazz's armor clamped, his jaw was tight, and there wasn't an inch of happy contentment in his field. Ricochet was going to be nice. He wouldn't put all the blame on Bluestreak, because Jazz was damn good at fragging up his own life, but Bluestreak wasn't fixing whatever this problem was either, so he was still on Ricochet's slag list.<br/><br/>He sighed.<br/><br/>Would there ever be a day he didn't have to fix his little brother's life?<br/><br/>"You're my only brother," Jazz muttered as he splattered the walls with a rinse and watched the suds swirl down the drain.<br/><br/>Ricochet folded his arms and leaned against the jamb. "What crawled up your aft?"<br/><br/>"Why are ya here?" Jazz asked as he hooked the nozzle back onto the wall and tucked the spray bottle into his bucket. He picked up the latter, tucking it under his arm. "Blue send ya?"<br/><br/>"Should he have?" Ricochet tilted his head.<br/><br/>Jazz snorted and shoulder-checked him as he passed, but Ricochet struck like a snake, wrapping his hand around Jazz's upper arm and yanking him close.<br/><br/>"Oy," Ricochet snapped as Jazz glared up at him. "Take that slag out on someone else. Not me. I ain't the one who pissed ya off."<br/><br/>"I'm not mad," Jazz said in a low, empty tone.<br/><br/>"Wow. I believe that." Ricochet squeezed until Jazz's armor creaked in his grasp. "If you don't like the life of a housemech who slings engex, then do something about it. No one told you to quit."<br/><br/>"Prowl moves us like pieces on a game board. I ain't having that," Jazz spat, and he yanked his arm free of Ricochet's, stalking away with a burst of emotion in his field.<br/><br/>Primus. He was such a headache sometimes.<br/><br/>"That's not a newsflash. You aren't slagged he manipulated you, you're slagged it worked," Ricochet snapped as he gave chase, stalking after the retreating frame. "And it's still working since you're the one who's miserable and he's livin' the high life doin' exactly what he wants."<br/><br/>"I ain't miserable," Jazz hissed, and it was written there, in the thick accent Jazz suddenly dropped into, how furious he was. Not at Ricochet, no, not really. Jazz didn't like hearing things he didn't want to hear. Like say, the truth.<br/><br/>"Oh, really? Well, you aren't bein' punished either, yet I don't think I've seen this hab look so clean." Ricochet stood in the center of the main room, taking a pointed look around. All the surfaces gleamed and sparkled like new. "Quit pretending that I don't know everything about you and admit it. You miss working for Prowl."<br/><br/>"Frag you!" Jazz snarled, and Ricochet wasn't sure where it was or where it came from, but it was chucked at his head.<br/><br/>The war wasn't so far gone that his reflexes were absent. Ricochet caught the -- he checked -- yep, it was a decorative knickknack. The kind of useless thing mechs with happy homes thought they needed.<br/><br/>He sighed and set it down on a nearby table. Jazz was damn lucky Ricochet was a different mech now. He had Blurr. He had Echo. He had Rebound on the way. He had a good life. It helped him remember to stop and think, rather than act on impulse.<br/><br/>He knew what Jazz wanted. Unfortunately, he was not going to get it.<br/><br/>"I have a meeting to get to," Ricochet said in as close to a calm and even tone as he could manage. "So I'm going to leave now because I'm not doing this."<br/><br/>Jazz's visor flashed with irritation. "Doing what?"<br/><br/>Ricochet worked his jaw and cycled a ventilation. "You need to be bent over a knee, but if I come near you right now, I'm going to beat you." He paused, performed a systems check, and continued, "And it won't be healthy for either of us."<br/><br/>"Healthy?" Jazz snorted and spread his arms wide. "Since when is anything ever healthy with us?"<br/><br/>Ricochet sighed. "You know, sometimes, the status quo gets old. We all have to change eventually, little brother. Think about it."<br/><br/>He turned, and he walked away. It was probably the first time he'd ever done so, left Jazz behind him, in a fit and needy, bleeding his desire to be dominated into the air, and the desperation of it soaking Ricochet's sensors.<br/><br/>Once upon a time, he'd have taken Jazz up on the unvoiced answer. He'd have stripped Jazz's aft raw, pounded his valve, left him satisfied and messy and sprawled out on a berth. He'd have covered Jazz in bites and scratches and dents and considered it a job well done.<br/><br/>Not this time.<br/><br/>"You fragger! You don't always know what's best!" Jazz shouted at him, but Ricochet didn't dignify that with a reply.<br/><br/>He left the apartment and closed the door behind him. Jazz on a warpath was one thing. Jazz on a self-destructive streak was quite another, and Ricochet wasn't about to contribute to it. He'd help later, when he was calmer, but right now?<br/><br/>Nope. Right now he was not capable of controlling himself with his twin.<br/><br/>He'd try and drum up some business for New Maccadam's, get in touch with some of his old contacts, old Decepticon pals he'd stayed friendly with. The bar was as much his as it was Blurr's, so he was invested in seeing it succeed.<br/><br/>This, at least, was a problem he could tackle right now. Jazz would just have to wait.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Jazz wanted to scream.<br/><br/>He swallowed it down to save Ricochet the satisfaction of claiming he was right. Instead, Jazz did the rational thing.<br/><br/>He cleaned up his mess, he threw himself down on the couch, he turned on the vidscreen, and he pretended to watch a mindless stream. That was what normal mechs did when they were frustrated or stressed, right? They watched television.<br/><br/>Not that the special edition newscast was very relaxing.<br/><br/>It was just Rodimus and Starscream sharing a platform and speechifying. Rodimus droned on about how peaceful and prosperous Cybertron will become especially now that more and more Cybertronians were casting aside their badges and returning home. Starscream explained his awareness of the current anti-Decepticon movement, but he was working close at hand with the Autobots to track down the perpetrators before any truly heinous acts occurred.<br/><br/>Jazz snorted.<br/><br/>Close at hand? A little too close in his opinion.<br/><br/>It was an open secret that Rodimus and Starscream were sleeping together and had been for several years now. Everyone knew about it. No one was brave enough to directly confront them over it. Jazz would bet every cred in his bank account that Prowl was holding on to that little tidbit just in case he needed leverage someday.<br/><br/>Ugh.<br/><br/><em>Prowl</em>.<br/><br/>It was so much easier to like Prowl when they were at war. His ability to make the hard choices was something Jazz admired about him.<br/><br/>This wasn't helping.<br/><br/>Jazz cut off the vidscreen and considered his options. Bluestreak was working. Ricochet had already walked out for whatever sanctimonious reason he'd given himself. That left...<br/><br/>Blurr.<br/><br/>Thank Primus for sparked Racers. Surely his libido was up to the task. And best of all, Blurr woudn't ask him to talk or play any games. He would just be up for a good time. Which was exactly what Jazz needed right now.<br/><br/>He left the apartment, pinging Blurr along the way, and chuckled to himself with Blurr answered with static in his voice, sounding half-asleep.<br/><br/>"It's past midday, why are you still in the berth?"<br/><br/>"Because I can be," Blurr said with a groan. "Why? Something wrong?"<br/><br/>"Just thought you might want some company."<br/><br/>"Nnn. Sure. There's something I wanted to ask you about anyway."<br/><br/>Jazz grimaced, though Blurr couldn't see it. "Business or personal?"<br/><br/>"Business."<br/><br/>He vented relief. Business he could handle. Personal he didn't want to deal with right now. Unless, of course, it had to do with his wonderful nephews who could and would never do any wrong as far as Jazz was concerned.<br/><br/>"Be there in a few," Jazz said, and ended the comm before Blurr could say anything to disagree. Not that he'd be quick on the uptake. A sleepy Blurr ran a little slower than normal Blurr, and it was quite possibly the most adorable thing about him.<br/><br/>He arrived to an apartment without signs of life, going in through the back door rather than through New Maccadam's entrance. He expected to see Blurr up and about, but nope, there he was, still curled up in the berth, half on his side, arms tucked around a pillow, his delectable aft bared to any who cared to look.<br/><br/>Jazz admired it for a moment before he crawled onto the berth, curving around Blurr from behind, his groin nestled against that perfect aft. "Why are you still in the berth?"<br/><br/>"Because I'm sleeping," Blurr grumbled without a blip of static in his vocals. He was radiating heat at the moment, his engine a quiet, idling purr.<br/><br/>Jazz counted in his head. Frag. Blurr was in the final stages of frame-building, wasn't he?<br/><br/>"You've gotten all soft and domestic on me, Speedy. You're too sparked and tired to frag." Jazz clicked his glossa. "What's this world coming to?"<br/><br/>"It's your brother's fault," Blurr said as he shifted, sliding onto his back as Jazz neatly nudged a knee between Blurr's thighs, nudging it up and up until it nestled against an array radiating heat.<br/><br/>Ooo. Not too tired after all.<br/><br/>"I don't want to talk about him right now," Jazz said as he tucked his mouth against Blurr's intake and gave it a lick. "I could, instead, wake ya up properly. Just like old times, hm?"<br/><br/>"What'd he do now?" Blurr asked, tipping his head back to bare more of his intake, his thighs widening in obvious invitation.<br/><br/>"Said I don't wanna talk about it."<br/><br/>Blurr huffed a laugh. "Fine. Talking's overrated anyway." He grabbed Jazz's sensory horn and hauled his head up. "You gonna frag me or what?"<br/><br/>Jazz grinned. "That's what I love about you, Blurr. No games. No pretense. Just some good, old-fashioned fragging." He drifted a hand down, cupping Blurr's array. "Gonna let me in or am I gonna have to work harder?"<br/><br/>Blurr's panel snicked aside under Jazz's hand, and he slid two fingers into Blurr's valve without preamble, breathing a moan as molten slick instantly wrapped around him. Blurr was hot and hungry, and Jazz couldn't wait to be inside him. The side-effects of sparking were a wonderful thing.<br/><br/>Jazz curved his fingers just right, stroked that little bundle of nodes he knew Blurr liked best, and grinned as Blurr groaned and arched his back and licked his lips.<br/><br/>"Don't want it soft and sweet," Blurr said as he rocked his hips and rode Jazz's fingers. "But you're gonna do all the work."<br/><br/>Jazz laughed and stroked a thumb over Blurr's anterior node, static charge crackling over Blurr's armor as he shuddered. "Fine by me."<br/><br/>He nudged between Blurr's thighs, spike already firm and aching, and Primus, it felt too good to slide into Blurr, his spike immediately surrounded by blazing heat, clamping down tight around him. Jazz groaned, holding Blurr's hips, grinding hard and deep as Blurr crossed his ankles behind Jazz's back, optics dim with lazy satisfaction.<br/><br/>"I'm not delicate," Blurr reminded him.<br/><br/>"Yeah, but I'm not allowed to break ya either," Jazz said with a laugh. He thrust forward, sharp and quick, jolting Blurr's frame.<br/><br/>Blurr moaned and grabbed the pillow beneath his head, sucking his bottom lip between his denta. Pleasure flushed his face, and Jazz grinned, thrusting harder, faster, jolting Blurr with each rock of his hips.<br/><br/>"Better," Blurr said and raised his hips to meet each thrust.<br/><br/>Jazz would have liked to kiss him, but he was reluctant to put pressure on Blurr's abdomen. He didn't know a damn thing about what would be safe for the gestational tank, so better to err on the side of caution and satisfy his desire for a kiss later.<br/><br/>Right now, the hot clasp of Blurr's valve was a siren's song, and Jazz surrendered to it, pleasure sparking up and down his backstrut, his sensornet tingling, and ecstasy coiling tightly in his belly. This was better, easier, so much more than thinking and fretting and dwelling.<br/><br/>Blurr gasped and writhed beneath him, fingers twisting into the berthcovers, lubricant welling up around Jazz's spike. He grinned and fitted a hand between them, the pad of his thumb laying a relentless pressure on Blurr's anterior nub, tearing a near-keen from Blurr's intake. One, two, three circles of his thumb, and Blurr overloaded, back arched, valve spiraling tight, rippling around Jazz's spike, milking him for his transfluid.<br/><br/>He only managed a handful of messy, grinding thrusts before he spilled into Blurr's valve, sucking in desperate vents, a wave of pleasure and satisfaction thrumming through his frame. His thoughts went white-hot-clear for a blissful moment, and he didn't think about a damn thing except how good Blurr felt.<br/><br/>"Nnn," Blurr said, sloppily pawing at Jazz's front. "Get down here and kiss me."<br/><br/>"But--"<br/><br/>Jazz's protest cut off as Blurr yanked him down into a sprawl on top of Blurr, and he wriggled up to catch Blurr's lips in a playful kiss. "Guess I shouldn't have worried about the bitlet there, huh?"<br/><br/>"Rebound's fine. You're not going to crush him," Blurr said as he threw a leg over Jazz's hip and tucked his face into Jazz's intake. "It's still too early. Maccadam's doesn't open for another hour." He rolled his hips, smearing the mix of transfluid and lubricant on Jazz's thigh.<br/><br/>"Thought you were tired?"<br/><br/>"Happy to let you do all the work."<br/><br/>Jazz snorted. "Racers are such a handful. This is why we didn't work out, you know. You're too high maintenance."<br/><br/>"Is that the reason? I don't even remember us dating." Blurr's lips curved into a smile, Jazz felt the shift against his intake cables.<br/><br/>"You were, at least, one of my top three frag buddies."<br/><br/>"I feel so valued and lucky." Blurr snorted and curled away, rubbing one hand down his face as he fought off a yawn and lost the battle. "By the way. Business."<br/><br/>"Lay it on me."<br/><br/>Blurr's smile melted away, his expression leaning toward serious, and a knot of worry gathered behind Jazz's spark. "Ricochet just thinks I'm being paranoid or over-cautious, but I'd rather be cautious than caught by surprise. Especially since he's not making any friends around here."<br/><br/>Jazz sat up, leaning against the wall, and Blurr joined him. "What's goin' on? Is there a problem?"<br/><br/>"No. And yes." Blurr sighed and scrubbed his face again. "It might just be nothing, and if it is, great. I just feel like we're being watched."<br/><br/>Jazz frowned. "But no threats?"<br/><br/>"Not unless you count the various patrons who don't like it when Ricochet kicks them out of the bar." Blurr twisted his jaw with annoyance. "Your brother forgets we're trying to run a business here."<br/><br/>Ricochet hadn't mentioned anything about danger, but then, they hadn't actually talked, had they? Jazz didn't want to dismiss Blurr's worries either. Last time, someone really had been out to get him, which was how Ricochet and Blurr met in the first place.<br/><br/>"What're ya lookin' for here?" Jazz asked as he churned on the possibilities. "Ya want me to keep an eye out? Do some snoopin'? I mean, this ain't much to go on."<br/><br/>Blurr sighed. "I know. But yeah, if you could keep an optic out, look for something suspicious, maybe keep an eye on Ricochet? Could be nothing or..." He paused and shrugged. "Could be that anti-Decepticon group."<br/><br/>"They are targeting Neutral or Decepticon-friendly businesses," Jazz mused. Though their usual tactics were annoying and property-damaging. They hadn't attacked anyone, or confronted anyone directly.<br/><br/>Yet.<br/><br/>"Let's hope it's nothing, and I'll look into it," Jazz said with a pat to Blurr's thigh. "Looking after my family is what I do. Worry no more about it."<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics. "You know I actually can take care of myself. I just need to know if there's something to protect everyone from."<br/><br/>"I'll look into it. Promise." Jazz squeezed Blurr's thigh and nudged him with a shoulder. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to my family. You can count on me."<br/><br/>Blurr grinned. "I already knew that. Thanks." He leaned over and gave Jazz a kiss on the cheek before he started climbing out of the bed with less grace than he might have usually displayed. "And now I have to get ready for work."<br/><br/>"No more rounds?"<br/><br/>"Not this time." Blurr slid off the berth and stretched his arms over his head, before lowering one to rub at his belly. "As fun as it would have been."<br/><br/>Jazz laughed and stretched out over the berth, which was obscenely comfortable. He ought to talk to Bluestreak about upgrading. "You're opening by yourself today, right? Want some company?"<br/><br/>"I'm fine, Jazz. Honestly."<br/><br/>And the last time he was fine, Whipstrike tried to kill him. So maybe Blurr had a point that wasn't paranoid.<br/><br/>Jazz gave himself another moment to ponder it before he sighed and clambered out of the berth. "I'll just have a look around."<br/><br/>"Suit yourself." Blurr shrugged and vanished out the door, the washrack coming on with a clatter of pipes a few seconds later.<br/><br/>Jazz snagged a meshcloth from the cleaning closet, gave himself a quick wipedown, and got to work. Their security system was topnotch thanks to Ricochet, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a quick maintenance check. Evaluating the perimeter of New Maccadam’s and checking the surveillance for suspicious characters wouldn't be too hard either.<br/><br/>It felt good to be doing what he did best, and even if it panned out to nothing, he'd rather be sure his family was safe.<br/><br/>He'd do anything to protect what was important to him.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Jazz was gone by the time Blurr got out of the washracks, but he'd left a note explaining the new security measures he'd put into place.<br/><br/>Blurr grinned and tucked the datapad into his subspace. It might have been just because Jazz felt he had something to prove, but it was a relief to have his worries taken seriously, rather than dismissed as paranoia. He had a sparkling, after all, and another one on the way.<br/><br/>As far as Blurr was concerned, there wasn't such a thing as too careful.<br/><br/>He locked up and took the inner stairwell down to the bar, flipping on the overhead lights and activating the music. He grimaced as loud, screaming Earth tunes blared from the speakers, and quickly changed the broadcast channel. It was going to be a slow day. He could pick the music and his customers could put up with it.<br/><br/>Riptide had closed last night, and he'd gotten much better at it over the years. He'd finally mastered the art of cleaning up, re-stocking, and cutting off the lights. Balancing the till was still a work in progress, but no mech was perfect.<br/><br/>Blurr didn't anticipate being busy this morning, which was why he waited until the last possible moment to head downstairs. He figured he had time enough to finish his opening procedures before the first customers trickled in. So he cut on the open sign and unlocked the front doors, propping them open as he often did on slow days when the weather was nice.<br/><br/>There was already someone waiting outside the door. Blurr cycled his optics in surprise which turned to irritation with a resigned sigh.<br/><br/>"Quicken, you've been banned for the forseeable future," he said as he stood in the doorway, blocking the mech from entering.<br/><br/>Quicken gave him a pleading look. "That ban was ridiculous, Blurr. I didn't do anything wrong, that stupid Decepticon just has it out for me."<br/><br/>Blurr counted backward from five to calm down. "That 'stupid Decepticon' is my partner and co-owner of this establishment. Insulting him isn't the way to get the ban lifted."<br/><br/>"But he's dangerous!" Quicken wailed and took a step closer, prompting Blurr to hold out his hand and stand firm. "He's violent, Blurr. He hurts mechs, and he's going to hurt you."<br/><br/>Blurr set his jaw. "Ricochet has never hurt me, and it's none of your business anyway."<br/><br/>"Just because it hasn't happened, doesn't mean it's not going to. I know mechs like him, who walk like they own the world," Quicken spat, and his optics flashed with anger, his hands pulling into trembling fists. "The minute you tell them 'no', they turn on you. Ricochet is just like them. You need to leave before he hurts you."<br/><br/>"I appreciate the concern," Blurr lied through his denta, and resisted the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nasal ridge. "But you have no right to comment on my life or my business. Worry more about your own."<br/><br/>Quicken's field flashed with volcanic fury, sharp enough Blurr took an unintentional step back. "I'm trying to help you. Why can't you see that? He's dragged you down, he's turned you into this." He shoved a finger toward Blurr's belly. "You can't race, you can't have friends, you can't do anything, and it's because of him. He's toxic."<br/><br/>"That's it." Blurr straightened his shoulders and stood his ground. "Back the frag off, Quicken. You're not welcome here, and this is coming from me, not Ricochet, so just shut up and walk away before I call the Enforcers."<br/><br/>Another emotion flashed in Quicken's field, too quick for Blurr to read, though the anger was prominent over everything else. "He's tainted you," Quicken hissed as he started to back away. "And the only way you'll be safe is if he's gone."<br/><br/>Blurr narrowed his optics and turned his voice cold, free hand dropping to a thigh compartment where he kept his illegal laser gun stashed. "The only safety you should be worrying about is your own if you don't walk away right now."<br/><br/>"I wish you could see what I see," Quicken said, but he spun on a heelstrut and left, taking the swirl of his chaotic field with him.<br/><br/>Blurr watched until he was out of sight. Only then did he release the vent he'd been holding, and kill the comm he'd had for the Enforcers. Quicken couldn't be that dangerous. He was a Neutral who survived the war by hiding like all the Neutrals, but Blurr didn't want to set a precedent for killing his customers outside the bar.<br/><br/>Besides, Blurr supposed from the outside, it would look like much of Quicken's accusations were truth. Blurr hardly recognized himself from the mech he used to be from the war. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a jarring difference.<br/><br/>And sometimes, he did wonder if being with Ricochet and diving into this domestic life had changed him too much.<br/><br/>Blurr finished propping open the door and went back inside. He churned the encounter over in his head, mulling it over, before opting not to tell Ricochet. The last thing they needed was for Ricochet to go off half-cocked and eliminate a potential problem, when really Quicken just needed some therapy.<br/><br/>They didn't need a real reason for Prowl to throw Ricochet in prison.<br/><br/>It wouldn't hurt to let Jazz know. He'd keep a level head about it. Perhaps mention it to Bluestreak as well. Blurr didn't know if Quicken's disgust for Ricochet was personal or because he was a Decepticon, but if Quicken hated Decepticons, maybe he was part of that anti-Decepticon group. Could be a lead for Bluestreak to follow.<br/><br/>There. All perfectly rational responses to a potential situation. Nothing paranoid about it.<br/><br/>Blurr rubbed the round of his abdomen and ducked behind the bar to wait for his customers. It was going to be a long, slow day.<br/><br/>For once, he thought he'd relish it.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>"Why are you always sticky?" Ricochet grumbled as he picked up Echo and immediately got patted on the face with fingers gummed up by a questionable substance.<br/><br/>"Because he's a little troublemaker," Calculon said with a laugh, giving Echo's dangling foot a squeeze. "I'd have bathed him for you, but I ran out of time. Someone else decided to tip a can of paint onto their head."<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted. "Surprised that wasn't Echo honestly." He tucked his sparkling on his hip. "Did he bite anyone?"<br/><br/>"Nope!" Echo chirped. "No bite, daddy!"<br/><br/>Calculon chuckled. "No, not today. There was a momentary scuffle over a toy, but it was quickly ended."<br/><br/>Ricochet gave Echo a stern look. "Are you forgetting how to share?"<br/><br/>"Clearcut was trying to take it from me!" Echo said, indignant. He broke out into an adorable pout and crossed his arms. "I had it first."<br/><br/>"He's not wrong. Clearcut is still working on his manners, the poor thing." Calculon shook his head and glanced over Ricochet's shoulder, toward another mech who was picking up a sparkling which was nearly the spitting image of him.<br/><br/>Echo stuck his glossa out at this sparkling. Ricochet assumed it was Clearcut.<br/><br/>Ricochet was too amused to reprimand Echo for it. Especially since that other brat looked distinctly Autobot. Bah, trust an Autobot to think they could take whatever they wanted under the guise of 'sharing'.<br/><br/>"Then I'd say you had a good day, squirt." Ricochet gave Echo a little hop, and Echo laughed and beamed up at him.<br/><br/>"A very good day!"<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled. "Come on. Let's go home. Mama misses you."<br/><br/>“Mama!” Echo wriggled in his arms.<br/><br/>“Calm down, kiddo. We gotta get home first. Tell me about school.”<br/><br/>Echo babbled; Ricochet dutifully listened, though Echo wasn’t quite old enough to form a coherent storyline. It was still endearing to hear the drama where one friend wasn’t his friend anymore, but now he had a new friend, and they had iron in their energon for lunch today, could you believe it? Iron.<br/><br/>Primus, he loved this kid.<br/><br/>They got home and unsurprisingly, New Maccadams wasn’t busy in the slightest. There were a few more patrons than usual at least, a few familiar faces Ricochet greeted with a nod. Jazz was here, too, lurking at the bar and chatting with Blurr.<br/><br/>“Mama!”<br/><br/>Echo wriggled so hard, Ricochet gave up and put him down, watching him pelt across the floor, around the bar, and tackle Blurr’s legs. He grinned as Blurr bent down and scooped Echo up, with a bit more effort than it used to take.<br/><br/>Ricochet sauntered up to the bar, pulling out a stool beside his idiot brother. “What’s your poison?” he asked as he leaned over the counter and grabbed his favorite bottle.<br/><br/>“I’m still pissed at you.” Jazz picked up a cube and tipped the contents back.<br/><br/>Ricochet gave it a suspicious look, but Blurr came through for him. It wasn’t anything too intoxicating.<br/><br/>“Where’s Bluestreak?” Ricochet asked.<br/><br/>“Busy,” Jazz said.<br/><br/>Ricochet popped the top off his bottle with his thumb and took a healthy swig, leaning his arms across the counter. Blurr was nodding as Echo replayed his entire day once more, hands waving wildly, face animated.<br/><br/>Primus, he loved them.<br/><br/>“What kind of busy?” Ricochet asked.<br/><br/>“The kind that means he doesn’t have time for me,” Jazz said and slammed his empty cube on the counter. “Can I get a refill, Blurr?”<br/><br/>“Maybe if you use some manners,” Blurr said as he shifted closer, Echo on his hip. “You want your nephew to grow up thinking he can just demand things?”<br/><br/>Echo waved at Jazz, a big smile on his face. “Mama says say please.”<br/><br/>Ricochet hid a laugh behind his bottle. Blurr didn’t bother to hide his smug look.<br/><br/>Jazz sighed. “You’re right, little mech. I gotta be polite.” He tilted his head. “Pretty please my sweet Racer? Can I have a refill?”<br/><br/>“You know where the bottles are. I gotta put this one in his playroom.” Blurr bounced Echo on his hip and brushed a kiss over their sparkling’s forehead.<br/><br/>“Awww,” Echo pouted.<br/><br/>“Just for a bit. Promise,” Ricochet said.<br/><br/>Echo didn’t look mollified, but then, he was a sparkling. He’d bounce back soon enough. So Ricochet kept an optic on the bar as Blurr took Echo back to the playroom, but they weren’t so swamped with customers anyone felt neglected.<br/><br/>Jazz grabbed his own drink, grumbling to himself as he did so. “You’re a bad influence on him.”<br/><br/>“Lies and slander.” Ricochet gulped down a shot and leaned against the bar, peering at his brother. “Bluestreak said you’re being a brat, but you know, I’m startin’ to think it’s not entirely your own fault.”<br/><br/>“S’that right?” Jazz gave him a sour look. “Enlighten me.”<br/><br/>“Someone’s supposed to be takin’ care of you, and I think he’s fallin’ behind in his duties,” Ricochet pointed out.<br/><br/>“Some of us have actual jobs.”<br/><br/>Ricochet and Jazz both turned as Bluestreak appeared, a tight smile on his lips, and fatigue dimming the usually bright gleam of his optics.<br/><br/>“I can’t always show up when fingers are snapped,” Bluestreak said as he joined them at the counter at Jazz’s other side, a noticeable space between them.<br/><br/>“No one said you had to,” Jazz said and swiveled into Bluestreak’s space. “How’d that lead pan out?”<br/><br/>“It didn’t.” Bluestreak’s lips curved downward into a deep frown.<br/><br/>Jazz snorted, but wisely didn’t comment. Primus, Ricochet could cut the tension between them with his vibroknife. This went a lot deeper than Jazz feeling neglected.<br/><br/>Damn it. He really did have to fix this, didn’t he?<br/><br/>Blurr returned, idly buffing a scratch out of his chest armor as he did so. “Oh, hey, Bluestreak. Can I get you something?”<br/><br/>“One of your specials, boss,” Bluestreak said with fake cheer.<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics. “I’m not your boss anymore, which believe me, I’m still mourning.” He pulled a few bottles into view, mixing and splashing them into a cube tumbler. “I could use some halfway decent help around here.”<br/><br/>“Excuse me, I’m more than halfway decent,” Jazz said with an indignant look. “I’m your most valuable employee.”<br/><br/>Blurr sighed and slid the cube across the counter to Bluestreak. “Sadly, that is true. What kind of world is this coming to?”<br/><br/>“Shut up. You love me,” Jazz grumbled around his drink.<br/><br/>Bluestreak, however, picked up his cube and drained half of it, while Ricochet watched with rising orbital ridges. There was definitely trouble in that household if Bluestreak was going to knock them back like that.<br/><br/>“Mostly,” Blurr conceded, and wandered off to the other end of the bar where a couple customers had walked up for refills.<br/><br/>“So,” Ricochet said, as tension vibrated between the two lovers, “You still working that anti-Decepticon case?”<br/><br/>Bluestreak nodded, his sensory panels flick-flicking with obvious agitation, his gaze flicking to Jazz before shifting to Ricochet. “And I have nothing. Zip, zilch, zero. I’m starting to think it’s not as organized as Prowl thinks it is. Or that it’s a smokescreen for something else. Or…”<br/><br/>“Or it doesn’t exist at all, and Prowl’s givin’ ya busy work,” Jazz muttered.<br/><br/>Bluestreak’s optics narrowed, his sensory panels freezing.<br/><br/>Primus.<br/><br/>Ricochet braced himself. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Bluestreak furious, but he had a feeling there was a pressure gauge slowly ticking upward in the mech. And Jazz had always been very good at pushing buttons.<br/><br/>“I’m not going to keep having this argument with you, Jazz,” Bluestreak said in a soft, low tone which did nothing to hide the anger in it. “Your problems with Prowl are not mine, and I’m not going to feel guilty because you can’t pull your head out of your aft long enough to be happy I’m pursuing my dream. If it that bothers you that much, you know where the door is.”<br/><br/>Ricochet’s orbital ridges crawled upward.<br/><br/>Bluestreak tossed back the rest of his drink and set it on the counter. “I’m going home. If you think you can remember where that is, we can talk later.”<br/><br/>Ouch.<br/><br/>Bluestreak spun on a heelstrut and stalked away without so much as a backward glance, the hike of his sensory panels and the rigid clamp of his armor the only thing to betray his emotional turmoil, given that his voice had never once lost the calm, even tone.<br/><br/>“Slag,” Jazz muttered.<br/><br/>“He’s pissed,” Ricochet said.<br/><br/>Jazz gave him a sour look. “Yeah, well, so am I, but ya don’t see me throwing a tantrum.”<br/><br/>Ricochet tilted his head, pointedly looked Jazz up and down, spying the telltale scrape of a familiar on his armor. “No, you just threw yourself at me, and then apparently, fragged my mate when that didn’t work out. Not that I mind, of course, share and share alike, but I would’ve preferred to watch. Or at least get video.”<br/><br/>“Of course you’d take his side.”<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted. “I’m not taking a side. I think you’re both being idiots, but right now, you’re being the bigger idiot by not going after him and talking this out like a couple of adults.”<br/><br/>Honestly, when Ricochet was the more mature one, there was something wrong with this picture. Had domestic life changed him that much?<br/><br/>Damn.<br/><br/>He should’ve found Blurr sooner.<br/><br/>Jazz glared at him, light flashing in his visor. “Frag you,” he growled and shoved off his stool with enough force to make it rock in place, only remaining upright by some streak of luck.<br/><br/>“I’ll see ya later,” Ricochet said as his brother stomped off. Hopefully back to his apartment with Bluestreak, but Ricochet wasn’t gonna hold a vent.<br/><br/>He knew his brother too well. There was a reason Jazz kept little boltholes scattered all around the city, and it wasn’t out of paranoia alone.<br/><br/>Blurr returned to collect their dirtied dishware and raised both his orbital ridges. “They decide not to stick around?”<br/><br/>“They’re having a domestic,” Ricochet said with a shrug, and tipped the bottle back, emptying it. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and set it down, snagging Jazz’s half-empty cube before Blurr could sweep it up. “Don’t waste that.”<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics, but left him be.<br/><br/>“Oy. Doesn’t this belong to you?”<br/><br/>Ricochet turned in his seat and muttered a curse as Echo giggled and held his hands out to his father while he hung suspended from Whirl’s pincers.<br/><br/>“Daddy!” Echo wriggled, kicking his legs a little. “I got out!”<br/><br/>“You sure did,” Ricochet sighed, and accepted the offering of his child from Whirl, who gave a knowing chuckle. It wasn’t, after all, the first time Echo had escaped from the playroom, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.<br/><br/>He tucked Echo into his lap and tipped his head at Whirl. “Thanks.”<br/><br/>Whirl gave him a playful salute. “Wreckers look after one another. Ain’t that right, kiddo?” He playfully tickled Echo’s chin, and Echo laughed.<br/><br/>“That’s right!”<br/><br/>“My sparkling is not going to be a Wrecker,” Blurr said from the other side of the bar, scrubbing furiously on the counter. “And he needs to go upstairs.”<br/><br/>“Guess that’s my cue,” Ricochet said with a sigh. He slipped from his stool, tucked Echo on his hip, and snagged his drink, downing the rest of it as quick as he could. “Come on, bit. Time for dinner and a bath and a story.”<br/><br/>Echo clung to his armor and gave him an adorably pleading look. “Wanna play some more. Can I? Please?”<br/><br/>“He can hang out with us for a bit if ya want,” Whirl said, head cocked to the side, and he didn’t have much of a face, but Ricochet swore there was a hint of longing in his optic.<br/><br/>Huh. Maybe Cyclonus and Tailgate were about to have a conversation about sparklings. Wouldn’t that be interesting?<br/><br/>“But that would just be spoiling him.” Ricochet pressed a messy kiss to Echo’s forehead, who shrieked and playfully tried to squirm away. “Maybe next time Whirl. Thanks for looking out.” He tipped his fingers in a salute.<br/><br/>“Anytime. I like the little bugger.” Whirl hopped into Ricochet’s abandoned seat and rapped a claw on the counter. “What do ya say, Blurr? Free drink for a good deed?”<br/><br/>Blurr snorted but Ricochet caught him already in the midst of mixing up Whirl’s preferred blend.<br/><br/>See? This was why Ricochet threw out the riff-raff. They didn’t need to keep any old patron here. They could cultivate their customers. Have mechs from all walks of life who just wanted some friendship, some good drinks, some fun, and who knew how to respect the boundaries of others, who Ricochet could trust around his kid.<br/><br/>He wanted a safe place for Echo, and for Rebound, too.<br/><br/>Which meant, he supposed, taking another look at the playroom. Ricochet was as proud of Echo’s escapes as he was exasperated. He had a little sneaky genius on his hands.<br/><br/>It definitely ran in the family.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Jazz did not come home.<br/><br/>Bluestreak wished he were surprised.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You look tired.”<br/><br/>It was an observation, not a question. Bluestreak made a non-committal noise in response and flicked the stylus over his datapad, marking off another zone.<br/><br/>“Jazz still hasn’t come home?”<br/><br/>Bluestreak vented. “No.”<br/><br/>“I can issue a bulletin. Have my mechs keep an optic out for him?”<br/><br/>“Primus, no.” Bluestreak scrubbed his forehead and looked up at his adoptive father, his mentor, and currently, the mech partially responsible for his domestic dispute. “For one thing, it would be pointless. Jazz isn’t going to want to be found if he doesn’t want to be found, and for another, it would only make him angrier that I went to you for help.”<br/><br/>Prowl frowned, but it was only a slight downturn of his lips. “You didn’t ask, I offered.”<br/><br/>“That’s semantics and you know it.” Bluestreak tapped the end of the stylus on the edge of the datapad, his gaze wandering to the window and the dim haze of construction hanging over the city. “This is his way of making me choose.”<br/><br/>“Between?”<br/><br/>Bluestreak’s spark ached, but he was apparently as stubborn as Jazz, because he didn’t appreciate the position Jazz had put him in. “My relationship with him, and my relationship with you.”<br/><br/>“Is this still about Ricochet?”<br/><br/>Bluestreak slanted Prowl a glare. “You falsely arrested his twin to motivate him. Did you not think there would be consequences to that?”<br/><br/>Prowl finally put down his stylus and looked up at Bluestreak, but there was no apology in the look, merely contemplation. Prowl didn’t apologize for anything, especially if he thought he had the right of it. His priorities, and his morality, was a little bit skewed. He was still a good mech underneath it all, Bluestreak believed that.<br/><br/>War had changed him, like it had changed everyone else.<br/><br/>“Ricochet was never in any real danger.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak rolled his optics. “You can lie to Prime all you want, but you can’t lie to me. If you’d needed a scapegoat, you’d have used Ricochet in a sparkbeat. Jazz knows it as much as I do.”<br/><br/>Prowl tilted his head, his sensory panels not betraying a single twitch. “There are actions which must be done for the greater good.”<br/><br/>“You know, there’s gonna come a time, when the ‘greater good’ isn’t going to be an acceptable excuse.” Bluestreak sighed a vent. “Prowl, I love you, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but you make it damn hard to like you sometimes.”<br/><br/>“I’m aware.” Prowl bent his head back over the datapad, stylus moving in neat, even sweeps. “What do you need from me?”<br/><br/>Bluestreak hesitated.<br/><br/>He chewed on his bottom lip. He fidgeted in his chair. His spark ached, and he was tired, and he wanted Jazz back, as much as he wanted to throttle him and shake some sense into him. It wasn’t fair of Jazz to do this, to take off without having an adult conversation.<br/><br/>But then, Bluestreak also knew Jazz had... issues when he started this relationship.<br/><br/>“Did you give me a real assignment?”<br/><br/>“Of course I did. Don’t be ridiculous,” Prowl said, without a single inflection in his voice, and Bluestreak couldn’t decide if he answered too quickly, or if it was just prompt because of his certainty. “Ferreting out potential rebellions is just as important as stopping them after they’ve become a problem.”<br/><br/>“It’s an ongoing assignment,” Bluestreak translated.<br/><br/>“With severity relative to our current intel and actions witnessed throughout the city, yes,” Prowl said, and after a moment, he looked up at Bluestreak, his facade cracking a little. “It’s the assignment I would’ve given Jazz, Bluestreak. It’s a testament to my faith in you not my lack of it.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak vented softly. He did, admittedly, feel like he was chasing his own sensory panels. And Jazz occasionally spat things in the heat of the moment which worried Bluestreak, gnawing at his own insecurities.<br/><br/>He trusted Prowl. He trusted Jazz. He understand the mistrust between them. He wished he wasn’t caught in the middle.<br/><br/>He wished he could make Jazz understand how important this was to him.<br/><br/>A part of him hoped he’d never find anything. It would be proof that this peace was working, that the discontent was restricted to a few individuals struggling to adapt, and there was no collective effort being formed to disrupt the peace. He’d rather walk away with nothing, then find proof of a conspiracy.<br/><br/>Bluestreak rubbed a hand down his face. “Then I’ll keep looking.”<br/><br/>“I could give you a different assignment,” Prowl said, and his tone was gentle, more the kind mech Bluestreak knew, who Prowl rarely revealed to others. He waved to the stack of datapads at one corner of his desk. “Any one of those are waiting to be addressed.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak shook his head. “No, I don’t want to be reassigned.” He eyed the stack, his fingers twitching. “But I’m in an excess of free time right now.” Thanks to Jazz, he didn’t say. “I’ll take another one if you got it.”<br/><br/>Once upon a time, that stack wouldn’t have been so large. But Prowl had chased off Jazz, and there were few mechs Prowl trusted enough to bring into his fold. Petty street crimes were one thing. Crimes which threatened the stability of Cybertron were another.<br/><br/>Prowl nodded and stared at the stack for a long moment before he lifted the third from the top and handed it over. Bluestreak reached for it, but before he could, Prowl lifted the datapad and gave him a long look.<br/><br/>“I’m giving this to you because I trust you which means I don’t want you running yourself into the ground so you don’t have to think about your relationship with Jazz. Understand?” Prowl asked.<br/><br/>Shame briefly licked through Bluestreak’s field before he swallowed it down. “Yes, sir.” He reached for the datapad again, and this time Prowl surrendered it.<br/><br/>“Jazz will come back,” Prowl said as he returned to his work, giving Bluestreak only a small portion of his attention, which was actually pretty standard. “This is his way of things. And if not, you can always enlist Ricochet.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak made a non-committal noise as he settled into his chair and flicked on the datapad. “I hope you’re right.”<br/><br/>“I’ve yet to be wrong,” Prowl said, with that arrogance most people hate about him.<br/><br/>Well.<br/><br/>He had a point.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>“Anything?”<br/><br/>Drift tried not to hold his vent, or let the yearning show in his vocals, but he knew he’d failed by the tightness of Ratchet’s jaw, the subtle pinching of his lips.<br/><br/>“No, Drift. I’m sorry.”<br/><br/>Ratchet vented and set the datapad aside. He took Drift’s hand, and pulled, and Drift went into his arms, pressing his face into the crook of his mate’s neck. Their chassis collided, and he vented in time with Ratchet, the thrum of Ratchet’s spark tangible through his chestplate.<br/><br/>“I don’t get it,” Drift muttered. “Blurr and Ricochet kindled the first time they fragged. What are we doing wrong?”<br/><br/>Ratchet’s field wrapped around him, patient and loving. “Those two are exceptions to the rule and shouldn’t be taken as an example. It typically takes more than one try.”<br/><br/>Or seven apparently.<br/><br/>Drift worked his intake and tightened his arms, his spark squeezing into a tight knot of worry and disappointment. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”<br/><br/>“In all likelihood, the fault is mine. I am very old, Drift.” Ratchet sighed and leaned his head against Drift’s, fingers gently stroking soothing patterns over Drift’s armor, his seams. “We’ll keep trying.”<br/><br/>"I didn't exactly have the cleanest life, Ratchet. Could be just as much my fault." Drift sighed a ventilation and drew himself out of Ratchet's arms, choosing instead to slump into their couch. His knees felt weak with shame. "I probably fried my gestational systems."<br/><br/>Ratchet sat next to him, taking one of Drift's hands and threading their fingers together. "I've had my hands in your internals more times than I can count. Your systems are fine." He scowled. "I, however, should probably get First Aid to take a look at me."<br/><br/>And there was little Ratchet hated more than having to admit he needed another medic for a second opinion. Granted, his relationship with First Aid had only improved over the years as he'd given more and more responsibility to his apprentice, and praised First Aid for his newfound confidence.<br/><br/>Still.<br/><br/>No teacher liked admitting they needed the help of their student.<br/><br/>"It's not the end of the world either way. We'll figure something out." Ratchet's thumb stroked the back of Drift's hand in soothing patterns. "Surrogacy or adopting. There'll be something."<br/><br/>Drift's lips quirked with amusement. "Blurr and Ricochet seem to be pretty fertile. Maybe I can steal one of theirs."<br/><br/>Ratchet snorted. "Absolute last resort. I mean it. They're brats are going to be terrors."<br/><br/>Drift leaned in, resting his head on Ratchet's shoulder. Grief still clung to him, but hope was stronger. He trusted Ratchet. He trusted in the strength of their relationship, and Ratchet was right. They had options.<br/><br/>"We'll figure it out," Drift murmured.<br/><br/>Ratchet squeezed his hand. "Yes, we will. I promise."<br/><br/>Drift reached out for Ratchet with his field, wrapping them both up in a warm affection. "I love you no matter what happens. You know that, right?"<br/><br/>"I know." Ratchet pulled his hand up, brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "Which is why I just finished making that appointment with First Aid."<br/><br/>Drift grinned and crawled into Ratchet's lap, straddling the medic, his thighs splayed wide as their chassis bumped. He brushed their nasal ridges together as his hands fluttered over Ratchet's shoulders, teasing into his seams.<br/><br/>"In the meantime, it doesn't hurt to practice, right?"<br/><br/>Ratchet chuckled and rested his hands on Drift's hips, fingers toying with his inset tires. "No, it doesn't." He reached up, cupping Drift's face, his thumb sweeping soft over Drift's cheek. "I love you, too. In case I forgot to mention that."<br/><br/>"I knew it. But I always like to hear it," Drift murmured, and leaned in for a kiss, letting the flush of Ratchet's affection chase away the storm clouds hanging over his head.<br/><br/>They'd figure this out. He just had to keep the faith.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Blurr woke with a gasp, pleasure licking up and down his spine, his entire frame tingling with it, and his spike throbbing in the grip of wet heat. He groaned, long and low, and heard Ricochet chuckle, felt the vibrations of it around his spike.<br/><br/>“No fair,” Blurr said as he found Ricochet’s head with his hands and tried to thrust up into his tempting mouth, but Ricochet had a firm grip on his hips and kept him pinned to the berth.<br/><br/>He slurped the length of Blurr’s spike lewdly, visor glittering up at Blurr in the dim of their berthroom. It was early. Too early for Blurr to be awake, too early to wake up Echo, but damn if this wasn’t the best wake up call.<br/><br/>“All’s fair in the berth, speedy,” Ricochet said across the comms before he swallowed Blurr all the way down, his spike hitting the back of Ricochet’s intake, Ricochet’s nasal ridge pressed against his spike housing.<br/><br/>Blurr’s head tossed back, ecstasy throbbing through his lines. His thighs trembled to either side of Ricochet’s shoulders, his heels digging into Ricochet’s upper back. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken with his spike in Ricochet’s mouth, but it was a rare enough treat.<br/><br/>His vents roared. He couldn’t thrust, but he could rock his hips, little pushes into Ricochet’s mouth, against the hot drag of Ricochet’s glossa, the squeezing rhythm of Ricochet swallowing around his spike. Ricochet worked his mouth up and down, up and down, lips performing a tight suction, his fingers flexing on Blurr’s hips, guiding him.<br/><br/>Blurr gasped, lights dancing in his optics, and Ricochet pulled off his spike, until the head of it was in his mouth. The tip of his glossa slid around the crown, poked into the transfluid slit, before he took Blurr to the root and swallowed.<br/><br/>Blurr overloaded with a muffled shout, shoving his fist into his mouth at the last second so as not to wake Echo. He pulsed into Ricochet’s mouth, vents whooshing as pleasure made his vision white and his fans roar. His thighs quaked, and he bucked into Ricochet’s mouth as his mate’s grip eased.<br/><br/>And then Ricochet was kissing him sloppily, and the taste of his own transfluid spilled over Blurr’s glossa, into his mouth. He made a muffled sound as he swallowed, arousal throbbing a harsh beat through his soaking valve seconds before Ricochet slid into him, his spike gliding hot and firm over his sparking nodes.<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled against his mouth as he set up a hard pace, driving Blurr deep into the berth, relentlessly pursuing his own overload. “My turn,” he said, sucking Blurr’s bottom lip into his mouth, giving it a gentle bite.<br/><br/>The taste of his own transfluid lingered on his lips. Blurr moaned as he wrapped shaky legs around Ricochet’s waist, trying to rise up to meet each rough thrust, but the roundness of his belly making it difficult.<br/><br/>“You gonna overload for me again?” Ricochet asked against his lips before his mouth moved down, denta and lips scraping a harsh pattern against Blurr’s intake.<br/><br/>Blurr moaned and bucked his hips, hands scrabbling at Ricochet’s back before finding his favorite seams to hook. He pushed into their openings, pinched the cables beneath, and a tide of hot desire spilled over him from Ricochet’s field.<br/><br/>“Yeah, you’re gonna give me another,” Ricochet crooned with a raspy laugh and drove deeper, grinding hard against Blurr’s ceiling node. “Come on, Zippy. Sing for me.”<br/><br/>Ricochet bent down, and the pressure of his denta, the sting of the bite, made Blurr jerk and overload, his valve clamping tight, a wave of charge dancing over his armor. He moaned, burying his face against Ricochet’s shoulder to muffle it, and the growl of Ricochet’s engine all but drowned him out.<br/><br/>“You’re so… fragging… hot,” Ricochet grunted, and drilled Blurr into the berth, pushing hard and deep, until the hot splash of his transfluid zinged over Blurr’s nodes, making them tingle and pulse another weak spurt of charge.<br/><br/>Ricochet’s mouth covered his for a deep kiss, and Blurr sank into it, mind still half-fuzzy from sleep, and now half-drunk on pleasure. He hummed as Ricochet circled his hips, gently grinding him through the last tremors of overload, before he tipped over into the berth and dragged Blurr into his arms. His hands patted over Blurr’s belly, both protective and possessive, and it stopped bothering Blurr sometime around the day he realized his carrying didn’t make him any less sexy in Ricochet’s gaze.<br/><br/>If anything, it worked him up more.<br/><br/>“Miss me last night?” Blurr asked as he listened to the sound of their frames cooling, their fans gradually cycling down to a calmer spin.<br/><br/>“Frag yeah. You came to berth too late,” Ricochet muttered, gnawing briefly on Blurr’s helm crest and making him twitch. “Can’t believe it’s already the insomnia stage. Is it just me or is this bitlet growing faster?”<br/><br/>Blurr snorted. “It only seems that way because you’re more aware of the carry this time.”<br/><br/>“Is that it?” Ricochet rumbled a laugh and nibbled Blurr’s crest again. “Huh.” His hand slid around the curve of Blurr’s belly again. “Not much longer, right?”<br/><br/>“Month or two,” Blurr said. “And if you can behave, you’ll get to be in the room this time.”<br/><br/>"I'm going to catch him," Ricochet declared as he rubbed a soft circle around the diameter of Blurr's belly, his engine a soft, rumbling purr. "Ratchet said we're a go for the birth, right?"<br/><br/>Blurr inwardly cringed, but he nodded. "We are. But don't get disappointed if it doesn't work out."<br/><br/>"Your health comes first." Ricochet nipped his crest before pressing his face to the back of Blurr's neck. "You know what this means, right?"<br/><br/>"That we're going to have two pitspawned sparklings underfoot?"<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted and gave his cables a pinch. "No. That you need to get off your aft and hire some folk. Preferably two or three."<br/><br/>"If you could get your twin to show up for his shifts, that wouldn't be such a problem," Blurr grumbled. Jazz had ghosted him, ghosted everyone truth be told, and Blurr was not amused.<br/><br/>"He's not meant to stand behind a bar. You can't count on him for that. And Drift is going to get sparked sooner rather than later. Get over it, Zippy. You gotta hire someone."<br/><br/>Blurr frowned where Ricochet couldn't see him. "Aren't you at all worried about your brother?"<br/><br/>"Jazz can take care of himself. And it's not the first time he's run away from his problems. He'll be back." Ricochet's engine gave a little rev. "I'm annoyed more than I'm worried. The little fragger's actin' like a coward." He pressed a kiss to Blurr's nape, his hips rocking against Blurr's aft in little, slow thrusts.<br/><br/>"But--"<br/><br/>"Blurr. Quit changin' the subject. We need more help. Now, I went out and got you some business, so you don't even have an excuse anymore," Ricochet said.<br/><br/>Blurr sighed a ventilation. Ricochet wasn't wrong. Business wasn't booming, per se, but there'd definitely been an uptick in sales. More patrons on nights that weren't poker nights. And if his customers leaned more toward former Decepticons or mechs with less than stellar reputations -- but currently impeccable manners -- Blurr didn't care. They paid well, they tipped better, and not a single one of them had tried to grope him.<br/><br/>He supposed it was Ricochet's doing.<br/><br/>"I'll think about it," Blurr conceded.<br/><br/>“I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get.” Ricochet’s denta graze the nape of his neck, glossa flicking out to taste a bite mark he kept worrying and worrying into Blurr’s cables. “Don’t wait too long. Rebound’s gonna be here before you know it.”<br/><br/>Blurr put a hand on his abdomen, over Ricochet’s, threading their fingers together. He shuttered his optics, counting Ricochet’s vents, as he felt the slight shifting beneath the surface of his armor. Quickening, Ratchet had called it, when the sparkling’s coding started to activate and caused the bitlet to twitch in the carrier’s tank.<br/><br/>“Can’t wait,” Blurr murmured. “Gonna go back to sleep now. Take Echo to school.”<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted and nuzzled the back of his neck. “Yes, dear.”<br/><br/>Blurr grinned.<br/><br/>Under his thumb.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>****</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mama, pick me up!"<br/><br/>Blurr sighed and bent down, swinging Echo up into his arms. He straightened with a hitch, lower back protesting, knees popping, the action a bit more strenuous than it used to be.<br/><br/>"You're getting a bit too big to be carried like this, bit," Blurr said as he tucked Echo on his hip and plunged back into the crowd, relieved they were only a block from his school.<br/><br/>And that Ricochet wasn't here to blow a gasket about Blurr picking Echo up. He was convinced it would cause a miscarriage.<br/><br/>"No, I'm not!"<br/><br/>"Yes, you are," Blurr said and gave Echo a little hop, causing his sparkling to grin widely. "You're going to be a big brother, which means you're going to be a big bitlet who's going to have to walk around on his own two feet."<br/><br/>Echo pouted. "That's not fair."<br/><br/>"Can't avoid growing up, Echo. It's just the way it is."<br/><br/>"I don't like it," Echo sighed.<br/><br/>Blurr gave him an affectionate squeeze. "I know. But you'll change your mind. Promise."<br/><br/>The school came into view, brightly colored and freshly built, squatting between two other buildings -- recently refurbished, but awaiting occupation. Blurr knew one of them was going to be a shop of some kind, he wasn't sure about the other. Whoever scored a permit first, he supposed, or had their name first in the queue.<br/><br/>"And no biting today! I want you to be a good bit. Can you do that for me?" Blurr asked as he set Echo down just outside the door, where Echo's teacher waited to receive each sparkling as the day began. "Can you make me proud?"<br/><br/>Echo's shoulders sank. He twisted in place, unable to meet Blurr's gaze. "I'll be good," he mumbled.<br/><br/>There wasn't much conviction in his voice, but it was probably the best Blurr was going to get. So he pulled Echo into a hug, feathered his face in kisses, and turned him over to his teacher, promising to pick him up after school day.<br/><br/>The promise made Echo's visor light up. "Can we get a treat?"<br/><br/>Blurr's spark squeezed with warmth. He really ought not to reward bad behavior, but damn his kid was cute. "If Calculon tells me you didn't bite anyone, then yes."<br/><br/>Echo thrust both hands up in the air and cheered. Maybe it was a bit like bribery, but damn, Blurr was tired of getting comm calls about Echo biting the other kids. Even if it was warranted from time to time.<br/><br/>Echo safely handed over to Calculon, Blurr plunged back into the busy morning. He had a lot on his plate, squeezing in far too many tasks for his very rare day off. Jazz was still MIA, and Blurr was loathe to admit it, but Ricochet was right. He needed to hire more folk. So he'd scheduled one interview today with someone Drift had recommended, and Ricochet had given him a list of good folk who just needed a second chance.<br/><br/>He'd sit down and look it over, too. Reluctantly.<br/><br/>First, shopping. A much loathed task but it had to be done. Rebound was going to be here sooner or later, and there were a lot of things Blurr needed to get before he was stuck in the apartment for at least a month.<br/><br/>He met up with Bluestreak along the way, his former employee looking tired and stretched thin, but offering Blurr a smile nonetheless.<br/><br/>"You're glowing," he commented.<br/><br/>"I'm huge," Blurr grumbled. "And slow."<br/><br/>Bluestreak chuckled. "For good reason though. And I'm sure Ricochet doesn't think the same way."<br/><br/>Blurr rested a hand on the swell of his abdomen. "No, the fragger is strutting around again, like he's got something to be proud of." He scowled. "Should I be worried he only wants me when I'm sparked up?"<br/><br/>"I think you should be happy he wants you either way," Bluestreak pointed out, and nudged Blurr down the block. "Come on. Gears and Huffer opened up a commissary and it's actually good. My treat."<br/><br/>"I didn't think those two knew how to do anything but complain."<br/><br/>"Gears was a chemist before the war. Apparently, he'd decided to go back and realized he hadn't forgotten a thing. It makes him happy." Bluestreak shrugged. "I don't know how Huffer fits into it except that he's the least personable cashier I've ever met."<br/><br/>"This I have to see." Blurr laughed. He'd not served much with Gears or Huffer during the war, but their reputation preceded them. They were also minibots, and everyone knew how much attitude could be packed into such a small format.<br/><br/>"What about you, Bluestreak? How are... things?"<br/><br/>The other mech sighed, his sensory panels drooping from their high arch. "I know Jazz has been home. I come back and the apartment is clean, or there's energon waiting for me, or the washrack has been recently used. But I haven't seen him, and he's not answering my comms."<br/><br/>Blurr frowned.<br/><br/>"It's not over," Bluestreak added, his forehead furrowing. "But it's not present either. We're in this holding pattern, and I'm back to waiting for him to catch a clue. I don't like it."<br/><br/>"No one would," Blurr said. He twisted his jaw. "This can't just be about your job with Prowl. That's just petty. There has to be more to it."<br/><br/>"I can't read his mind, Blurr. If he doesn't tell me, I don't know what's up." Bluestreak's engine gave a little rev, his optics darkening with irritation. "I do know, however, that there's a new player running around, someone who's supposed to be drawing together all the mechs with grudges."<br/><br/>Blurr tilted his head. "You think it's Jazz?"<br/><br/>"I think my idiot partner is trying to solve the problem without solving the problem."<br/><br/>Which sounded like something Jazz would do. He'd always been fiercely independent. Blurr had been as surprised as anyone when Jazz settled down with Bluestreak, and when he entered the complicated structures of their relationship. Not that Blurr really understood it. He played with Ricochet, and they had their games, but it wasn't the same level as Jazz and Bluestreak. They were too intense for Blurr's taste.<br/><br/>It was Blurr's turn to sigh. "That's a slag-poor situation."<br/><br/>"You're telling me." Bluestreak's engine revved again, and he paused in front of a fresh-faced building, opening the door for Blurr to precede him. "Prowl thinks I should just end things and move on. Ironically, Ricochet told me Jazz doesn't deserve me, and he agrees."<br/><br/>"He's got a point."<br/><br/>"Yeah, I know."<br/><br/>Inside, it was warm and smelled of sweets and spices. The low murmur of conversation accompanied the few occupied tables, and a long counter across the back was brightly lit, showing off an array of colorful confectionaries.<br/><br/>Blurr took a seat, trusting Bluestreak to make a good selection, and sighed with relief. His knees hurt. His back hurt. He was very tired of being sparked, and he still had a month to go.<br/><br/>Two would have to be enough. Blurr wasn't carrying again.<br/><br/>"I got one of the sampler trays," Bluestreak said as he returned, setting a tray on the table between them, one plate loaded with treats, and two tall glasses filled with a thick, colorful liquid. "We can always get more."<br/><br/>Blurr peered over the tray before he picked up something round and sparkly, popping it into his mouth. It exploded on his glossa in a burst of fizzy sweetness.<br/><br/>"Wow," he said.<br/><br/>"I know, right?" Bluestreak's lips curved in a slight smile and he sipped his own drink, making a pleased noise. "It's almost enough to let me forget all the pitslag going on."<br/><br/>Blurr selected another treat. "What're you going to do?"<br/><br/>"I don't know." Bluestreak's sensory panels drifted further down, betraying his emotional state. "But I'm not going to wait forever." He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and put the cup down decisively. "Enough about my drama though. Wanna know what Prowl told me?"<br/><br/>"Sure."<br/><br/>Bluestreak started picking through the tray of treats. "He says Rodimus wants to focus more on recreation so people have stuff to do other than think about the war. Bringing back the racing circuit is high on the list."<br/><br/>Excitement bubbled up in Blurr, before it was dampened by the reality of his own situation -- sparked, with a mate and a sparkling and a business. Could he even race anymore? Was he too out of shape to make much of a splash? Did it matter?<br/><br/>"Everyone's going to like that," Blurr said, thinking also of many of his patrons who've expressed interest in seeing him race again.<br/><br/>It reminded him of Quicken, who'd been so insistent Blurr race again. He wasn't the only fan to nag Blurr about it, but he'd been the most persistent. Blurr hadn't seen Quicken since their last confrontation. Last he'd heard, Quicken had taken to drinking at Visages, which was fine with Blurr.<br/><br/>"Recreation is a good thing," Blurr added.<br/><br/>"Anything to keep everyone's minds off all the reasons we should hate each other," Bluestreak said as he popped another treat into his mouth. "It's a good thing so many mechs are coming back home, but not everyone is eager to embrace the peace. Old resentments die hard."<br/><br/>Blurr grimaced. "You don't have to tell me that. Riptide spent two hours scrubbing that graffiti from the front wall."<br/><br/>New Maccadam's was building a reputation as a safe haven for former Decepticons, which Blurr didn't mind so much, but it meant he was gathering attention from those who felt former Decepticons didn't deserve a safe haven. There'd been some graffiti and defacing, but it was juvenile and non-threatening.<br/><br/>It had a bonus effect of increasing business, so Blurr didn't raise too much of a fuss. Prowl promised to add a couple extra patrols in the area at least.<br/><br/>"Have you gotten any credible threats?"<br/><br/>"No, thank Primus, else Ricochet would be even more unbearable than he is now." Blurr rolled his optics. Ricochet's behavior had been... protective, to put it kindly. Blurr supposed considering what had happened the last time he was sparked, he couldn't blame Ricochet, but still.<br/><br/>It was suffocating.<br/><br/>"I think it's sweet," Bluestreak said with a thoughtful hum, the tips of his sensory panels fluttering as he stared into the distance, a touch of sadness in his field.<br/><br/>Blurr felt a little guilty. "Jazz'll come home," he said.<br/><br/>"Pfft. I'm not counting on it." Bluestreak grabbed another treat and washed it down with a hearty gulp of the blended energon. "It's up to him whether or not he wants this, wants us. I just won't wait forever."<br/><br/>"And you shouldn't," Blurr said, just as his comm chimed an incoming message from Riptide.<br/><br/>Blurr frowned and held up a finger to Bluestreak as he answered it, "What is it?"<br/><br/>"Sorry, boss but I'm not gonna be able to work today," Riptide said, and his voice was striped with static. "Pipes came down with that flu and gave it to me, and we're both down for the count." A rattling, wet cough accompanied the explanation, and Blurr cringed, wrinkling his nose.<br/><br/>The Cybertronian flu couldn't be transferred across a comm, but Riptide sounded sick enough, Blurr half thought it would.<br/><br/>He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, I'll figure something out. Just don't bring that plague to the bar. I can't afford to catch it, and neither can Echo."<br/><br/>"Not gonna. Just gonna stay home and--" Riptide paused for another rattling cough before he continued, "get better. Sorry, boss."<br/><br/>"It's not your fault," Blurr sighed. Honestly, it was his own for assuming he could put off hiring someone as long as possible. Hubris was what this was.<br/><br/>Blurr ended the comm and rubbed his temple, feeling an ache coming on.<br/><br/>"What is it?" Bluestreak asked. "Is everything okay? Nothing happened to Echo, did it?"<br/><br/>Blurr waved him off. "Echo's fine. It's Riptide. He's caught that flu, and he can't work today." Blurr checked the chronometer and winced. He stood up, catching his balance for a second. "Which means I'm going to have to do it and -- slag, someone's gotta pick up Echo. Where the frag is Jazz when I need him?"<br/><br/>Drift, he knew, was unavailable today. Blurr hadn't asked why, it was none of his business, he just knew Drift had told him weeks ago he wouldn't be able to help today.<br/><br/>"Let me help," Bluestreak said as he started to pick up their detritus and pile it on the tray. "I can go open New Maccadam's or pick up Echo, whichever helps you out more."<br/><br/>"It's your day off. You should be taking it easy," Blurr protested.<br/><br/>Bluestreak shook his head. "All I'm going to do is sit at home seething about Jazz. At least this way I can be useful." He offered a small, sad smile. "We're family, right?"<br/><br/>Blurr vented a sigh of relief. "Yeah, we are. Thanks, Blue. I owe you big time." He debated a course of action, and remembered what he'd promised Echo. "Can you open the bar for me? I promised Echo I'd pick him up, and he's anxious enough without thinking I'm going back on my word."<br/><br/>Bluestreak swept up the tray to return it to the counter. "Consider it done."<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Ricochet glanced at the chronometer with a frown. It was only a few minutes to opening, and Riptide was nowhere to be found. A bit of tardiness wasn't rare for Riptide, he seemed to run on a different time schedule than everyone else, but this was late even for him.<br/><br/>He was about to open a line of communication to the mech when Bluestreak walked in the side door, his optics bright and his jaw set with determination.<br/><br/>"I didn't know you still worked here," Ricochet said as he took down the last few stools and slid them into place. It was going to be a busy day.<br/><br/>Bluestreak shook his head as he slipped behind the counter, optics skimming the new placement of things. "Riptide's got the flu, and Blurr was out of options, so I volunteered." He shrugged, though it was far from casual. "Blurr really needs to hire someone else."<br/><br/>"Tell me about it," Ricochet snorted and eyed the former sniper. "You doin' all right?"<br/><br/>"All things considered, I'm fine," Bluestreak said as he logged himself into the till and turned to flick the lights on. "I lived for millenia without Jazz in my life. I'll keep on living without him if that's the way he chooses to play it."<br/><br/>"He's an idiot," Ricochet said. "He doesn't deserve you."<br/><br/>Bluestreak quirked his lips in a grin. "No, he doesn't." He tilted his head toward the door. "Could you unlock those for me? I think we already have some thirsty soldiers out there."<br/><br/>“It’s gonna be a busy one,” Ricochet said as he moved to do as Bluestreak asked, a good half-dozen mechs milling around outside, laughing and joking with each other. He recognized a few as frequent customers, no doubt having recently gotten off a work shift in construction.<br/><br/>“I could use the distraction,” Bluestreak replied, before the doors opened, and the day began.<br/><br/>Music poured from the speakers. Mechs crowded at the bar before finding tables. A few rousing cards games started in opposite corners -- all in good fun, not the seriousness of Poker Night -- and Ricochet had to resist the urge to pat himself on the back. Blurr was worried about their income, well, Ricochet had done his job well.<br/><br/>Business couldn’t be called booming, not yet, but damn was it improving. Maybe a little too well.<br/><br/>Ricochet had to jump behind the bar a couple of times to help out an increasingly overwhelmed Bluestreak. It was a relief when Blurr finally showed up, Echo on his hip and his face smeared with something sticky and unhealthy, but Ricochet didn’t have the energy or the time to chastise Blurr for it.<br/><br/>“Put him in the playroom, we need you slinging engex,” Ricochet said as he passed Blurr, snagging a kiss from both mate and sparkling, whilst balancing a tray of drinks for a group of thirsty constructicons in the corner. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re packed.”<br/><br/>“Daddy!” Echo made grabby hands at him, and Ricochet hated he couldn’t pick him up and twirl him around.<br/><br/>“We’ll play later, bitlet. Daddy and Mama have to work,” Ricochet said, brushing another kiss on Echo’s forehead before fixing Blurr with a glare. “After tonight, if you don’t hire someone, I’ll do it for you.”<br/><br/>“That’s fair,” Blurr sighed, and gave Echo a little hop in his arms. “Come on. Into the playroom with you.”<br/><br/>“And wipe his face first!” Ricochet shouted over his shoulder.<br/><br/>He didn’t have to look to know Blurr was rolling his optics. He knew his mate far too well.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Chaotic was a mild way of putting it.<br/><br/>Blurr’s back ached, his feet ached, he’d spilled something on the floor behind the bar and it was tacky every time he stepped on it, but he hadn’t had the time to mop it up. He and Bluestreak were being run ragged, and Ricochet couldn’t but half watch the door, because he was so busy running drinks.<br/><br/>“What an excellent time for Jazz to be missing,” Blurr grumbled as he dumped an armful of supplies on the counter, hurriedly restocking the ingredients before the next wave swamped them.<br/><br/>“This is your own fault,” Bluestreak reminded him. “You should have--”<br/><br/>“Hired someone else by now, yes I know. Please stop saying I told you so. I’m hearing it enough from Ricochet,” Blurr muttered. He glanced at his chronometer, at another crowd of mechs coming in through the front door, and sighed.<br/><br/>He called Drift, and promised the world to his friend if Drift would come in and help out for a few hours. Whatever it was that had caused Drift to be busy must have been done with because he’d agreed immediately and promised to rush right over.<br/><br/>Thank, Primus.<br/><br/>“And if you can think of anyone you’d trust to work in my bar, let me know,” Blurr added before he ended the comm and plunged back into the pile of orders.<br/><br/>The next time he was able to look up, Drift had arrived with Ratchet in tow, the latter of whom parked himself at the end of the bar and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in the midst of a rowdy bar.<br/><br/>“He insisted on coming,” Drift said with a shrug.<br/><br/>“The more the merrier,” Blurr said. He clapped Drift on the shoulder. “Take over for a second, I need to check on Echo.”<br/><br/>“Sure thing.”<br/><br/>He’d peeked in on his sparkling a few times, but Echo was used to being in the playroom, and Blurr kept half an optic on the nannybot-cam they’d installed. Last Blurr checked, Echo had dragged every toy out of the chest, and they were strewn around the room. Earlier, Blurr found him sitting on a pile of plush toys while he watched the vidscreen and munched on some rust crackers. Another time, he’d been lining up all of his matchbox cars in rows, talking to them.<br/><br/>This time, however, Blurr poked his head in the playroom, and the vidscreen yelled at him, the toys made for a walking hazard, and there was no sparkling. He wasn’t in his fort, or buried in his nap-pallet, or hiding in the toy chest.<br/><br/>“Damn it,” Blurr sighed. The little escape artist had found his way out again.<br/><br/>He commed Ricochet as he slipped out of the playroom and climbed the rampwell up to their apartment. Sometimes, Echo went there first, and Ricochet had made a point of keying his biosignature into the alarm system just in case. It was the second-safest place for Echo to be.<br/><br/>“Your sparkling has escaped again,” Blurr said as he let himself into the apartment, though the security system indicated the last one to depart had been Ricochet this afternoon, and no one had entered since. Wouldn’t it have registered Echo if he’d come up here? “Keep an eye out for him in the bar. I think Whirl’s there. You know how much he likes Whirl.”<br/><br/>Ricochet replied, “You know, I’d be proud of the little imp, but tonight is the worst night for him to prove how much he’s my kid.”<br/><br/>Blurr searched the apartment. He checked all of Echo’s favorite hiding places, his room, the washrack, and their room. Echo was nowhere to be found.<br/><br/>Unease trickled into his spark.<br/><br/>Blurr went back downstairs, peeked into the playroom briefly, before beelining it back to the bar proper. “He wasn’t in the apartment,” he commed Ricochet as he entered the bar through the back, just in time to catch Ricochet’s bellow.<br/><br/>“--the frag up and listen!” Ricochet was standing on top of a table, hand cupped around his mouth, ignoring the death glares of the mechs perched around the table beneath him. “My kid has wandered out of his playroom. Look around right now and see if he’s underfoot! The first person to find him gets free drinks!”<br/><br/>Blurr looked hopefully into the crowd.<br/><br/>Heads swung left and right. Mechs immediately peered under tables and looked around them, but no one spoke up.<br/><br/>Panic strobed into Blurr’s spark. He looked up at Ricochet, exchanging a glance with his mate before he spun on his heel and ran into his office. All of the security systems could be accessed from his work console, and he needed to see where Echo had gone. If he’d gotten out the door… he could be anywhere.<br/><br/>Blurr suddenly couldn’t remember when he’d last checked the nannybot-cam. Cybertron was at peace, but the city wasn’t safe, especially not for a curious sparkling who thought everyone was his friend or wanted to be his friend.<br/><br/>Damn it.<br/><br/>“Everybody out!” Blurr heard Ricochet bellow. “We’re closing early, folks. Sorry, sorry, but my kid comes first over your thirst!”<br/><br/>They at least had the good sense to have a plan in place for something like this. Ricochet would funnel all the customers out one door to make sure Echo didn’t sneak out with any of them. Blurr would check the security system. And if they had any other bartenders on hand…<br/><br/>“I’m going to look outside,” Drift said as he skidded to a halt in front of Blurr’s open door.<br/><br/>“Thank you,” Blurr said, already focused on the security system.<br/><br/>He rewound the footage until he could see Echo happily playing in the room, and watched with growing worry as the minutes ticked by, and no one burst into the room to give him the good news that Echo had been found.<br/><br/>He watched as Echo played, then got bored and started poking his nose into every corner of the playroom. When that ceased to entertain, he stared and stared at the door, trying the handle, pressing buttons on the panel, and then by some stroke of luck, must have hit the right series of buttons because the door popped open.<br/><br/>Echo grinned and didn’t hesitate a second. He plunged out of the playroom and beelined for the bar proper.<br/><br/>Blurr switched views, though he knew it was going to be hard to track Echo through the crowd of mechs. He followed as best he could as Echo snuck around with enviable skill, and he looked to be making his way toward Whirl in the corner.<br/><br/>He didn’t make it.<br/><br/>Blurr’s spark ran cold.<br/><br/>Quicken stepped into view, kneeling down in front of Echo with a big smile. He said something -- it was video, not audio -- and Echo grinned and jumped up and down, looking really excited. He took Quicken’s hand and out they went through the side door without anyone noticing or protesting or…<br/><br/>How the frag did he even get in?<br/><br/>No, Blurr knew the answer to that. They’d been so busy all night, Ricochet hadn’t been watching the door as keenly as he usually did. Quicken could have slipped in at any time.<br/><br/>Blurr checked the timestamp. Less than twenty minutes ago.<br/><br/>He saved the video, forwarded it to Ricochet and Jazz and Bluestreak and Drift and frag, even Prowl. Anyone he could think of. Then he burst out of the office, seeking his mate, a wild panic growing in his spark.<br/><br/>There’s no way it was innocent. Blurr couldn’t think of a single valid reason Quicken would walk out the door with Echo. Not a single good reason anyway.<br/><br/>Blurr nearly collided with Ricochet as he stepped into the bar proper, anger volcanic in his mate’s field, and his engine roaring.<br/><br/>“I told you that mech was bad news!” Ricochet snarled, and Blurr glared at him.<br/><br/>“This isn’t the time for I told you so! We need to find them!” Blurr snapped, and he shoved past Ricochet, heading for the side door Quicken had used. It would have dumped him into an alley, which then led to the main street.<br/><br/>“I’m closing up, then I’ll help you look,” Bluestreak sent across the comms just as Drift said, “He’s not out here, Blurr.”<br/><br/>Damn it.<br/><br/>“We’re not going to find them running around like a bunch of idiots,” Ricochet said from the doorway as Blurr burst into the alley and looked up and down as if Quicken would be hiding behind the dumpster, playing a game with Echo. “Call Prowl.”<br/><br/>Blurr growled and stomped to the end of the alley, looking out into the street where a good third of his customers were milling around outside New Maccadam’s, looking annoyed by the circumstances. From here, Quicken could have gone anywhere. There were buildings across the street, but the road itself went to the left and right.<br/><br/>Twenty minutes was a long time for a mech to disappear.<br/><br/>Blurr’s shoulders slumped.<br/><br/>Ricochet was right. It was time to call Prowl.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bluestreak had always wanted to be an Enforcer, and it wasn’t until after the war that he got the opportunity, thanks to Prowl. This caused some friction between he and Jazz, but it was too important for Bluestreak to quit. He wanted to do this.<br/><br/>Right now, sitting at a table with Blurr and Ricochet, both of whom were wracked with worry and anger in equal measures, Bluestreak second-guessed himself a little. Most of his assignments had involved strangers. This one was too close to home, but Blurr had insisted.<br/><br/>He wanted family involved. Ricochet had no interest in relying on the detective work of mechs who had once arrested him. So Bluestreak would take the lead in finding Echo, and everyone else would defer to him.<br/><br/>It was an enormous responsibility. He wished he didn’t have to bear the burden alone. But for family, he would do this, and Prowl had trusted him with it.<br/><br/>He would succeed.<br/><br/>“Prowl is going to put out a city-wide alert with pictures of Quicken and Echo. The city isn’t that big. Someone has to have seen them,” Bluestreak said as he paced back and forth, speaking aloud to organize his thoughts, and pacing to put his nervous energy somewhere.<br/><br/>He’d already sent a team to Quicken’s registered place of residence, but there was a very low chance they’d find him or Echo there. If a mech intended to kidnap someone’s sparkling for whatever twisted reason they’d devised, they weren’t just going to go back home to get easily caught.<br/><br/>Especially considering how long Quicken had likely been planning this. The whole thing smacked of planning, not convenience and spontaneity.<br/><br/>"Quicken is utterly forgettable. No one's going to remember seeing him," Blurr said as he rubbed his forehead, exhaustion wreathing his field in a heavy cloak.<br/><br/>"Someone has to know him. He didn't come here alone," Ricochet said as he audibly performed a systems check, though it didn't stop his engine from revving. "The real question is whether someone'll turn him in."<br/><br/>Blurr frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"<br/><br/>"Because Echo's part-Decepticon, and Ricochet hasn't made a lot of non-Decepticon friends. There's just enough lingering anger people might protect someone like Quicken," Bluestreak said reluctantly.<br/><br/>"He's a sparkling!" Blurr snapped, and he was on his feet in the next second, pacing back and forth, one hand rubbing his abdomen. Ratchet had warned him to try and stay as calm as possible, for Rebound's sake, but it was a warning which fell on deaf audials. "It shouldn't matter what his lineage is. He's a sparkling who was taken from his parents!"<br/><br/>Bluestreak held up his hands. "Hey, you don't have to tell me that. I'm just saying, I've been buried in anti-Decepticon sentiment for months. There's a lot of anger out there, a lot of resentment. Mechs aren't always gonna think rationally."<br/><br/>"Primus." Blurr rubbed his forehead. "We should have never left him in the playroom like that."<br/><br/>"No slag." Ricochet sat back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, and the storm on his face darkened with intensity. "You should've hired someone months ago so one of us could always be with him."<br/><br/>Blurr spun on a heelstrut and glared at Ricochet. "That's not helping, you aft!" he hissed. "Yes, I know. I should've hired someone. That's not going to fix it now!"<br/><br/>"No, but it could've prevented it. You're so damn worried about this bar, about us making enough creds, you don't stop to worry about Echo," Ricochet growled. "I'm the one who's stepped up since the day he was born, but ya still look at me like ya think I'm the one who's gonna walk away."<br/><br/>"You want to talk about blame?" Blurr demanded, and his hands swung wildly through the air in sharp, agitated motions. "I told you Quicken was a potential threat, and that you needed to be more careful who you slagged off, and you just laughed it up because you think there's nothing can touch you."<br/><br/>"I'm the one who threw him out and told him not to come back!"<br/><br/>"That's my fragging point." Blurr stomped up to Ricochet and shoved a finger in his face. "I could've handled it my way, but you had to go throw your weight around and be a possessive idiot, and now some unstable stalker has my son. <em>My son</em>."<br/><br/>Ricochet batted his hand away and stood, bristling with anger. "He's my son, too. And you should have remembered he was your son all the times you foisted him off on others because you couldn't be bothered to look after him."<br/><br/>"This isn't helping, you two," Bluestreak said, but if they heard him, they showed no signs. Their fields were a riotous clash of hurt and anger and worry, and they couldn't take it out on the one responsible, so they were taking it out on each other.<br/><br/>"I am not Echo's only parent! I do the best I can," Blurr snapped.<br/><br/>"Your best isn't good enough. Because if it was, Echo would still be here and not in the grip of one of your stalkers!" Ricochet hissed, and his field snapped through the room like a physical blow.<br/><br/>Bluestreak flinched from it, his sensory panels screeching a terrible feedback.<br/><br/>Blurr, however, went still, his face draining of color, and his optics flat and unyielding. He stared at Ricochet before he took a large, visible step back.<br/><br/>“Get out,” Blurr gritted through clenched denta.<br/><br/>"What?" Ricochet reared back, his armor clamping to his protoform.<br/><br/>"You heard me. Get out of my bar." Blurr's hands formed shaking fists. "Just get out of here until you find my son or you stop being a fragging aft. Whichever comes first.<br/><br/>Ricochet's jaw set. His field flared, and for a moment, Bluestreak thought he was going to have to break up something physical between them.<br/><br/>"Fine," Ricochet snarled and he whipped his hand through the air, inches from Blurr's chestplate. "But he's my fragging kid, too."<br/><br/>Ricochet whirled on a heel and stormed out of the bar, slamming the doors open and shut, sending a spidery crack through the transteel of the right-hand door.<br/><br/>"And we're going to have to fix that," Blurr snarled, glaring at Ricochet’s departure, but in the next second, all the fight and anger drained out of him. He stood there, shaking, and Bluestreak worried he was going to collapse.<br/><br/>He moved to Blurr's side, took his elbow, pulled him toward a chair, not that Blurr had any kind of resistance in him.<br/><br/>"Sit," Bluestreak said. "Take a deep vent for me."<br/><br/>Blurr shot him a look, but he obeyed, gratefully sinking into the chair and resting his hands on the table, his fingers visibly trembling. "Ricochet's not wrong. This is my fault."<br/><br/>"The only one responsible for this is Quicken." Bluestreak slid in the stool next to Blurr and rested a hand on Blurr's arm. He pulsed calm through his field, latching onto Blurr's to help regulate the wild flutters of Blurr's field. "The two of you are just angry and scared and don't have anywhere else to vent but on each other. I'm sure Ricochet didn't mean it."<br/><br/>Blurr sighed and covered his face with his hand. "He meant it. He just didn't mean to say it." He pressed his lips into a thin line, drawing a ragged vent. "I know I'm not the best parent. I try, but it just doesn't come as easy to me." He worked his intake. "I should've hired more people sooner."<br/><br/>"I know you love Echo, just like I know you already love Rebound. You're not a bad parent, Blurr," Bluestreak said, giving Blurr's arm a squeeze.<br/><br/>"No, but I could definitely be a better one." He set his jaw, optics hardening with determination. "And I will, too. My sparklings deserve the best, and I'm going to make sure they get it."<br/><br/>"And Ricochet will be back. He just needs to cool down."<br/><br/>"Yeah." Blurr scrubbed his forehead and sank down a little in the chair, his hand dropping to rub the soft round of his abdomen. "It doesn't help that he's on edge because of Jazz. No offense, Blue, but I need your partner to pull his head out of his aft."<br/><br/>Bluestreak managed a wry grin. "Honestly, so do I. No offense taken."<br/><br/>His comm chirped at him, and Bluestreak held up a finger before he took the call privately. He wanted to manage what information he gave Blurr. No need to worry him unnecessarily.<br/><br/>'Sir, Quicken's apartment is clean. Looks like he moved out and didn't plan to come back,' said Nightstick, the Enforcer Bluestreak had tasked with taking a unit to Quicken's registered residence. 'Seems like he's been gone for days.'<br/><br/>'Any notes, datapads, computers?'<br/><br/>'Just the one console. He tried to wipe it, but Restore thinks he can get back some of the data on it. Quicken wasn't tech savvy.'<br/><br/>A small spark of hope surged to life in Bluestreak's spark. 'Good. What about lists of known associates and his job?'<br/><br/>'I've put the request in. We should be getting that shortly,' Nightstick said.<br/><br/>Thank Primus. With any luck they'd get a lead.<br/><br/>'All right. I'm on my way to have a look at that console. Thank you, Nightstick.'<br/><br/>Bluestreak ended the comm and gave a gentle squeeze to Blurr's arm. "Quicken wasn't at his apartment, but he did have a personal console. I'm going to take a look at it."<br/><br/>"Do you think you're going to find something?" Blurr asked.<br/><br/>"I hope so. In the meantime, you shouldn't be alone. We don't know if Quicken is working alone or what his actual motivations are."<br/><br/>Bluestreak stood, contemplating his options, before he buzzed Drift, who immediately agreed to return, and apparently, would bring Ratchet as well.<br/><br/>Blurr nodded, his shoulders slumping, his head hanging as he spoke to the table. "I feel like I should be out there looking."<br/><br/>"There are hundreds of places he could be hiding. The city is full of abandoned buildings, and there are abandoned tunnels beneath us. Quicken could be anywhere," Bluestreak said, resting a hand on Blurr's shoulder. "It'll accomplish nothing to run around without a direction."<br/><br/>"I know." Blurr sighed. "Thank you, Bluestreak. I owe you one. More than one actually. When this is over..."<br/><br/>"Family doesn't keep score," Bluestreak said.<br/><br/>Blurr managed a faint smile.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Ricochet was not stupid.<br/><br/>He knew the anger billowing in his spark wasn't meant for Blurr. It wasn't meant for Jazz either, but Jazz was going to get it, because Ricochet was tired. He was tired and worried and upset and angry. His son was missing.<br/><br/>He needed his Primus-damned brother.<br/><br/>He knew where Jazz was. There were only so many boltholes in the city, and Ricochet knew his brother too well. He knew exactly where to go, to a section of the city that was furthest from the reconstruction areas. A lot of mechs who weren't ready to sing kumbayah and shake hands with their former enemies had taken up residence here, squatting in the ruins of Cybertron's former civilization.<br/><br/>It was a slum by any other name, save that no one forced these mechs to live here, they chose to do so.<br/><br/>Ricochet received no few strange looks. He was a familiar face, he knew, after that thing with Whipstrike and that he visited here quite frequently, often trying to convince former Decepticons to come in from the cold. No one gave him any troubles, however.<br/><br/>The Rust was a lawless place, but it had its own code. And anyway, he'd technically been on the right side of the war, never mind that he'd mated an Autobot.<br/><br/>A junker field of disassembled and scrapped ships had turned into a makeshift apartment complex. Jazz had set up a bunker in the fuselage of a scrapped Decepticon destroyer which would never fly again, but provided ample shelter to the displaced, the frustrated, and the anarchist.<br/><br/>Ricochet strode right up to the rickety door -- more sturdy than it looked -- and pounded his fist on it. The anger had time to settle in his tank, forming a low simmer, but the moment the door creaked open and a familiar face peered out, that simmer bubbled into a boil.<br/><br/>Jazz's visor flashed purple -- to match his new paintjob. He'd gone full incognito, full native, and if Ricochet hadn't felt the pulse of his spark, he might not have recognized his twin. That had better be a nanite wash, because if Ricochet had to look at this false-Jazz for too long, he was going to blow his top.<br/><br/>"How'd you find me?" Jazz asked without an ounce of warmth in his tone and heaps of suspicion.<br/><br/>"I always knew where you were, idiot, but I was content to let you play this game," Ricochet said, squaring his shoulders. He pointed to the ground at his feet. "Get out of there and let's go."<br/><br/>"What? No." Jazz scoffed and made as if to close the door.<br/><br/>Frag that.<br/><br/>Ricochet slammed both hands against the door, forcing it open and shoving Jazz back several, startled paces.<br/><br/>"I know I didn't stutter," he growled as he advanced on his twin, hands squeezing in and out of fists. "Echo is missing, and I need my fragging brother. So get your head out of your aft and do what I say."<br/><br/>Jazz froze. "Wait. Echo is missing?"<br/><br/>"If you'd been checking your messages, you'd know." Ricochet grabbed him and spun, slamming Jazz against the wall, his hands locked around Jazz's upper arms.<br/><br/>Jazz spat static at him, but he didn't squirm to get free. "I didn't think--"<br/><br/>"No, you didn't, because you never think, not when you think you know better than everyone else." Ricochet leaned in close enough to taste Jazz's vents on his lips. "The game ends now."<br/><br/>Jazz cycled a shuddering ventilation. "Let me go. I'll help you find him."<br/><br/>"It wasn't optional." Ricochet squeezed, until he felt Jazz's armor give a warning creak beneath his fingers, and the dark purple flickered. Good. It was a nanite wash. "You're coming with me, got it? We're going to meet up with Bluestreak, and we're going to find my son together."<br/><br/>The color drained out of Jazz's face, and his field gave a wild burst before he reined it in to nothing. "I don't--"<br/><br/>Ricochet slammed him against the wall again, and Jazz's head bounced off the surface, dazing but not hurting him. He'd been through worst. Frag, Ricochet had done worse to him.<br/><br/>He was making a point. No more games. He wasn't playing anymore. Jazz had his little fit; it was time to be an adult now. Slag was serious.<br/><br/>"Shut up," Ricochet snarled. "You don't get to argue right now. You're just gonna listen."<br/><br/>Jazz clamped his mouth shut.<br/><br/>Good boy.<br/><br/>"I love you. You're my brother, and I love you, but you've been acting like a selfish fragger," Ricochet snapped. "You've left Blurr short-handed. You've cut off contact with Bluestreak. And you disappeared when I needed you. I don't know what's going on in your head, though I can give it a good guess, but you better get over it."<br/><br/>Jazz's visor turned flinty and hard. His jaw set.<br/><br/>Ricochet gave him a little shake. "Are you listening?"<br/><br/>"You told me not to speak!" Jazz hissed.<br/><br/>"Now, you're just being a brat. You know what I damn well meant." Ricochet wanted to punch him, but he resisted. Just barely. "Do you want me ta kick yer ass? Cause you know I will."<br/><br/>Jazz squirmed in Ricochet's grip, but had nowhere to go. He thumped his fists against the wall, making it creak alarmingly. "It ain't easy as all that," he said. "But fine. Let's go. I wanna find Echo."<br/><br/>"But you're going to apologize to me first," Ricochet said.<br/><br/>Jazz's head dipped, his gaze dropping elsewhere. "I don't owe you an apology."<br/><br/>"You admit ya owe it someone though."<br/><br/>"Blurr, mebbe." He paused, cycled a ventilation, and went limp in Ricochet's grasp, his field wreathed in shame. "Blue, for sure."<br/><br/>"Damn right." Ricochet let go, and Jazz dropped back to the ground, not that Ricochet had held him up too high.<br/><br/>It still took a moment for Jazz to get his feet beneath him.<br/><br/>"You can tell me what crawled up your aft on the way," Ricochet said, and tilted his head to the door. "You first. And drop those nanites. Purple's a horrible color on you."<br/><br/>"I'm on an op. I can't."<br/><br/>"A self-appointed op." Ricochet snorted. He followed Jazz out the door, yanking it shut behind him. There was no point in locking it. This was a bolthole, not an actual home. "What in the Pit are you doing here?"<br/><br/>Jazz gave him a sidelong look as he slipped into a swagger, a far cry from his usual stealthy creep. He was putting on a show for anyone watching.<br/><br/>"You wanna find dissidents, you gotta go where they're likely to hide," Jazz said with a shrug. "Figured the Rust was the best place to start, and I was right. But they only talk to their own."<br/><br/>Ricochet side-eyed him, lip curling with disgust. "You took your partner's op. That's low, Jazz. Real low."<br/><br/>"I was trying to help him!"<br/><br/>"Yeah. Super generous of you, to go off on your own and start your own investigation on his assignment, and not tell him anything." Ricochet punched him on the shoulder, hard, making Jazz wince. "You don't even work like that anymore!"<br/><br/>Jazz rubbed his shoulder, looking suitably chastened. "I was tryin' to prove a point," he said in a sour tone.<br/><br/>"Well, ya didn't think it through. Bluestreak ain't gonna smile and kiss you and say thank you. He's gonna be furious and upset. He's gonna think you didn't think he was up to it," Ricochet pointed out. Primus, his brother was dumb sometimes.<br/><br/>"That's not it at all!"<br/><br/>Ricochet gave him a sour look. "Tell him, not me."<br/><br/>Jazz had the decency to look guilty. "I will." He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Just... tell me what happened with Echo, please? What did I miss?"<br/><br/>"Read your damn messages, then I'll tell you."<br/><br/>"Aft." Jazz twisted his jaw and fell silent for a moment as he waded through what was no doubt dozens of messages sitting in the queue, waiting for his attention.<br/><br/>How many of them were from Bluestreak, patiently expressing his worry and asking for a conversation? Judging by the growing reek of guilt in Jazz's field, there were plenty. Bluestreak wasn't one to yell like Ricochet, or make a fuss. He was quietly disappointed instead, and Ricochet would argue that was worse.<br/><br/>"Slag," Jazz sighed, and the guilt increased tenfold. "Blurr asked me to look into Quicken, keep an optic on him, but I never looked deeper than the surface."<br/><br/>"He didn't tell me that."<br/><br/>"He didn't want you to think he was being paranoid."<br/><br/>It was Ricochet's turn to sigh. "I would have listened," he grumbled, even though he knew Blurr probably had reason to hesitate. Ricochet did have a bad habit of dismissing smaller concerns.<br/><br/>"Sure." Jazz snorted and tilted his head. "Well, Quicken's not in the Rust, and he's not part of any of the groups there, so none of my contacts will help us."<br/><br/>"Bluestreak has already started the investigation. With your help, it'll go faster," Ricochet said as they finally arrived at the apartment complex where Bluestreak made his home.<br/><br/>Jazz balked upon sight of it, but Ricochet grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him inside. He didn't have time for games. Ricochet had already sent a message to Bluestreak, who promised he'd be home as soon as he reasonably could.<br/><br/>Ricochet let himself into the apartment, keeping a firm grip on Jazz, and hauled him inside, where his nose twitched at the faintly stale odor. Bluestreak hadn't been spending much time here, he knew. He worked far too much, and sometimes, he crashed with Prowl, and Ricochet couldn't blame him.<br/><br/>No one wanted to come back to an empty apartment and all the reminders of why it shouldn't be.<br/><br/>"Wash off the Rust and deactivate those nanites. I want to see my brother when you come out of the rack," Ricochet said as he moved to the windows, opening the blinds and letting the pale light of the stars brighten the room.<br/><br/>"That's what I was planning to do anyway," Jazz said, like the brat he was, and vanished into the washrack.<br/><br/>Ricochet rolled his optics behind his visor. He busied himself with tidying a bit, chasing away the sense of abandonment, and filling the apartment with warmth and energy. He cut on the vidscreen, turning on the news to a low murmur, and drew several cubes of energon from the dispenser, keeping one for himself and setting out one for Jazz.<br/><br/>Then he sat on the couch and waited, trying not to stew, trying not to feel the guilt attempting to creep into his spark. He thought of his last angry words with Blurr, and his engine revved, until Ricochet chased them away with his rightful anger toward his brother.<br/><br/>Jazz emerged some time later in a cloud of steam, his armor gleaming fresh, in familiar black and white. He grinned as he strutted into the room -- his time in the rack must have restored some of his confidence. Ricochet was ready to slap it back down.<br/><br/>"Did you miss me?" he asked as he climbed into Ricochet's lap, draping his arms over Ricochet's shoulders, hips rolling in a sinuous dance which made heat lazily crawl through Ricochet's circuits.<br/><br/>He would not be so easily manipulated.<br/><br/>Ricochet shoved him off, and took great satisfaction in watching Jazz tumble to the floor, his field a burst of confused outrage. "Don't ask me a stupid question," Ricochet said, careful to keep his tone cold and even. "You vanished for weeks. On both me and Blue. You don't get to shake your aft and think it's all okay."<br/><br/>Jazz stood, making a show of brushing himself off. "If Echo's missing, why are you here and not with Blurr?" he asked, with that incisive intuition which made him a deadly assassin.<br/><br/>"We're not talking about me."<br/><br/>"Oh, I think we are." Jazz examined a scratch in his armor. "You drag me out of the Rust in a fit of self-righteousness, so I think we oughta question why."<br/><br/>Ricochet glared, the heat of it flaring from his visor. "I'm not the one who fragged off and abandoned my partner and my job because I'm too much of a brat to admit I was wrong."<br/><br/>"No." Jazz's lip curled, but there was nothing friendly about his smile. "But you did something, didn't you? What'd you do wrong, big brother? What did you fuck up?"<br/><br/>Ricochet was on his feet before he'd made the conscious decision to do so, standing toe to toe with Jazz, who looked up at him, triumphant and ready.<br/><br/>"It isn't your business," Ricochet snapped, poking Jazz hard in the chassis, making him rock on his feet. "This is about you."<br/><br/>Jazz lifted his chin, and Ricochet wanted to smack the smirk off his pretty face. "Sweetspark, it's always about me, or didn't you know that?"<br/><br/>Primus damn it. There it was.<br/><br/>"You're goading me on purpose."<br/><br/>"Am I?"<br/><br/>Ricochet rested a hand around his brother's intake, not squeezing, but with implied threat, his thumb stroking over a sensitive cable. "Do you want to pay penance?"<br/><br/>Jazz's armor shivered, and charge nipped at Ricochet's fingertips as Jazz's field opened to him, as readable to Ricochet as a datapad. "Do I need to?"<br/><br/>"You're such a needy slut," Ricochet murmured, but the heat had already coiled in his tanks, pulsed through his groin. His spike thickened in its sheath. He applied pressure to Jazz's intake, felt the pulse of his brother's spark energy in the thick cable. "I'm not in full control, Jazz. You're takin' a big risk."<br/><br/>There was a violence in him right now, one he hadn't felt in a long time, not since the last battle before the war ended. It twisted and coiled in his spark, an urge to do harm without anything to direct his violence toward. He wanted to see Quicken twisted and mangled at his feet. He wanted to beat the enemy to a pulpy mass of cables and protomatter. He wanted to destroy something if only to bleed out the rage.<br/><br/>Jazz licked his lips. "I trust you."<br/><br/>"That's your first mistake," Ricochet growled and yanked Jazz in for a biting kiss, nothing gentle it, but a full claim, biting and plunging his glossa into Jazz's mouth.<br/><br/>Jazz moaned and opened to him, all trace of resistance melting away, his field rising up and smashing against Ricochet's in a riotous storm of emotion.<br/><br/>Perfect.<br/><br/>Ricochet bit Jazz's lip hard enough to draw energon, squeezing his intake warningly, before he drew back and growled, "Knees."<br/><br/>Jazz shuddered, head to toe, and he lowered himself down, despite the strain of Ricochet's grip on his throat, until Ricochet finally released him. Jazz didn't have to be told to kiss Ricochet's interface array, covered though it was. He pressed his face to it, laying open-mouthed kisses, and licking the seams.<br/><br/>"Hands behind your back," Ricochet said. "Hold your elbows. You don't deserve to put your hands on me."<br/><br/>A low whine eked out of Jazz's engine, but he obeyed, armor creaking as he strained to maintain the position while balanced on his knees and sloppily attending Ricochet's paneled array.<br/><br/>"You do your best work on your knees, you know," Ricochet said as he gripped one of Jazz's sensory horns, squeezing until the plating gave a warning crackle and Jazz winced.<br/><br/>He didn't tell Ricochet to stop, however.<br/><br/>"It's where you belong." Ricochet worked his intake, his vents coming in sharper bursts. He rocked against Jazz's mouth, his spike nudging at the closed panel, demanding to be freed. "Don't you dare overload. That's not what you're here for."<br/><br/>Jazz moaned, and his knees scooted a little further apart, aft rocking as though trying to seek friction, his panels snapping aside. His spike emerged, thick and glossy. The scent of his arousal filled the air, sweet and spicy.<br/><br/>Ricochet cupped the back of Jazz's head with his other hand, held Jazz against his panel, and only then did he trigger his spike to release, so that when it emerged it slid against Jazz's cheek, leaving a smear of pre-fluid behind. Ricochet rocked against him, grinding over his face, smearing the pre-fluid over both of Jazz's cheeks, ignoring the temptation of his mouth.<br/><br/>For now.<br/><br/>Primus, he looked good like this. Ricochet hadn't realized how much he missed this until Jazz was here on the floor, hungry and desperate to be taught a lesson. He hadn't closed his mouth, his lips parted instead, hot and damp vents emerging from it, his glossa lying quiescent within.<br/><br/>Ricochet's spike throbbed.<br/><br/>"Lick me," he demanded, and Jazz hastened to comply, his glossa swirling over the head of Ricochet's spike, lapping up every drop of prefluid before laving it up and down.<br/><br/>Ricochet held his head in place, but as pretty a sight as it made, he wanted more. So he pushed into Jazz's mouth slowly, dragging his spike across the flat of Jazz's glossa, taking his time until Jazz's nasal ridge as pressed to his spike housing and he was buried in his brother's intake. Jazz swallowed around him, intake cables flexing, and Ricochet shuddered.<br/><br/>The anger told him to thrust, to slam into Jazz's mouth as though it was as receptive as a valve, to bruise Jazz's intake and drown him in transfluid. Ricochet shuttered his optics, cycled a ventilation, and grasped the strings of his restraint. He moved into Jazz's mouth, long and deep strokes, but without the intent to damage.<br/><br/>Pleasure zipped up and down his backstrut as Jazz kept swallowing, though oral lubricant leaked from the sides of his mouth, and he made these helpless noises of desperation. Ricochet's engine rumbled and roared.<br/><br/>He forced himself to slow down, to slide into Jazz's mouth and linger, enjoy the pleasure of wet heat and the sweep of Jazz's glossa. Every muffled sound, every twitch, every crackle of charge licking out from Jazz's armor, put a chip in the tension riding on Ricochet's shoulders.<br/><br/>Primus, he'd missed this.<br/><br/>Distantly, Ricochet registered that the front door opened. He shifted his gaze to the front hallway just as Bluestreak stepped into view, his expression completely unreadable.<br/><br/>"Perfect timing," Ricochet said, to acknowledge Bluestreak's arrival, and when Jazz made a muffled noise and attempted to pull back, Ricochet held him in place.<br/><br/>His job right now was to suck Ricochet's spike. Nothing else.<br/><br/>Bluestreak shook himself like coming out of a fugue, and came further into the room, a smile on his lips, and his panels arched high. It was a mask if Ricochet ever saw one. "I'll say." He eyed Jazz. "How well is that one behaving?"<br/><br/>Ricochet stroked a sensory horn, making Jazz shudder. "Better than usual. I think he's feeling guilty."<br/><br/>"Well, he should." Bluestreak's tone was sharp, and Jazz jerked, his visor dimming and his field flickering with shame. "Only a coward takes off without a proper conversation."<br/><br/>Oh. Those words were pointed, weren't they? Because they weren't meant for Jazz alone. Ricochet felt the sting of them.<br/><br/>They were fully deserved.<br/><br/>Bluestreak stepped up against Jazz's back, looming over him, and Jazz's visor flickered as Bluestreak's field slithered against his.<br/><br/>"I'm not even sure I want it back," Bluestreak murmured, his optics sharp and flinty, though his touch was gentle as he curled his hand against Jazz's head, fingers scrubbing the other sensory horn, opposite of Ricochet's grip. "I don't know if it's worth it."<br/><br/>Jazz made a muffled, pained sound, and tried to pull against Ricochet's head, but he refused to let him. Jazz was going to kneel here, with a spike in his mouth, until Bluestreak said what he wanted to say.<br/><br/>"It is needy," Ricochet admitted, holding Bluestreak's gaze, to make a point of his own. "And likely to run away when it doesn't know what to do, but you know, it never lied about what it needed. Maybe you forgot that."<br/><br/>Bluestreak flinched and cycled a ventilation. His fingers gentled as he stroked Jazz's sensory horn. "I did," he admitted with a soft sigh. "I put so much time and attention into my job, because it was a dream come true, that I forgot about the other dream I'd won. I assumed it would always be there, and forgot that even the best of things take work. That was my fault."<br/><br/>"And?" Ricochet prompted.<br/><br/>Bluestreak's panels drifted down, his face flickering with guilt and sadness. "And I'm sorry. I should've been here more. I should've remembered what else mattered."<br/><br/>"It's no excuse," Ricochet said, rolling his hips briefly, reminding Jazz he should be tending to Ricochet's spike. "Conversations should've been had. Running away like a coward isn't going to fix anything, no matter what the intentions were."<br/><br/>"Very true," Bluestreak said, and he looked down at Jazz, some of the hardness returning to his gaze. "I don't want a partner who won't talk to me. I don't want a partner who will trust me in the berth but no where else. I want a relationship, I've always been clear about that, so if my partner doesn't want that, then maybe we need to go our separate ways."<br/><br/>Jazz whined deep in his throat, and he twitched, as though he was going to unfold his arms, before he thought better about it.<br/><br/>Ricochet nodded and looked down at Jazz, sliding in and out of his mouth a few times, sensing the conflict in his brother's field, and written on his brother's face. "It's contrary and troublesome," he said. "But I think it's worth it, and worth a second try."<br/><br/>He licked his lips and gave Bluestreak a dirty grin. "Why don't you use that other end of his? See what I'm talking about?"<br/><br/>Bluestreak's optics widened, before heat darkened their crystal hue. "He does have a beautiful aft."<br/><br/>"My thoughts exactly." Ricochet slid out of Jazz's mouth, sweeping his thumb over the swollen lips, before cupping his cheek. "Come along, pet. Let's move this somewhere comfortable."<br/><br/>He put pressure against Jazz's chin, and Jazz struggled to stand without use of his hands, wobbling when he got to his feet, though Ricochet made no move to help him. He opened his mouth as if he intended to talk, but a hard look from Ricochet made him clamp his mouth back shut. Instead, he nodded, and lowered his gaze.<br/><br/>Ricochet went to the bedroom, Jazz following, and Bluestreak along with him. They walked side by side, and Jazz snuck glances at his lover, but said nothing, while Bluestreak's expression said far more than words. Heat burned between them, desire thwarted by months apart and their own inability to communicate properly.<br/><br/>Ricochet grinned to himself. This, at least, was a problem he could solve.<br/><br/>He climbed onto the bed, propped up against the wall, with pillows a comfortable mound against his back, and spread his thighs, one hand curving around his spike. He throbbed with denied release, pre-fluid dribbling freely from the tip.<br/><br/>"Pet," he said as he thumbed the tip of his spike. "Give me your mouth."<br/><br/>Jazz made a strangled noise and started forward, but Bluestreak grabbed him before he could, gripping his chin and turning Jazz's face up toward his. They kissed, nothing soft and gentle about it, Bluestreak biting Jazz's bottom lip, his grip possessive and hungry. Jazz moaned, knees wobbling, and Ricochet licked his lips, stroking himself harder.<br/><br/>Bluestreak ended the kiss, and held his gaze. "You're mine, too," he growled, and damn if it didn't turn Ricochet on a little more. "Don't you forget that."<br/><br/>Jazz trembled. He opened his mouth, but Bluestreak shook his head sharply.<br/><br/>"No talking." He gestured to Ricochet with a tilt of his head. "You heard your brother. Give him your mouth."<br/><br/>"He's not supposed to overload either," Ricochet said as Jazz awkwardly climbed onto the berth without use of his hands, lubricant slicking his thighs, his engine whining from restrained pleasure.<br/><br/>"I approve." Bluestreak climbed after Jazz, openly ogling the sway of his aft, the lines of lubricant glistening on the interior of his thighs, and the droplets he left on the somewhat-dusty coverlet.<br/><br/>He grabbed Jazz's linked arms to steady him, and pushed Jazz forward with the other hand, Ricochet snatching his brother's shoulders to guide Jazz's mouth over his spike, without Jazz faceplanting uselessly. As amusing as that would be, Ricochet's spike wanted attention, and he didn't have the urge to completely humiliate his brother. This was meant to be a lesson.<br/><br/>Jazz hungrily sucked Ricochet's spike into his mouth, licking and sucking on it like he was a starving mech and Ricochet's spike was his favorite meal. He shivered as he moaned, swallowing Ricochet to the base everytime, head bobbing in perfect rhythm. He moaned even louder when Bluestreak grabbed his hips and nudged against his aft, the quiet click of a panel sliding aside heralding the appearance of Bluestreak's spike as he rutted over Jazz's aft.<br/><br/>"You gonna tease all night or are you gonna take him?" Ricochet asked as he held Jazz's head, keeping him in place to rock over Jazz's glossa.<br/><br/>Bluestreak arched an orbital ridge. "You think you're gonna order me around now?"<br/><br/>"It was a suggestion." Ricochet grinned, lip curled. "But I can certainly give it a try. They say every Dom's just waiting for the right master to come along."<br/><br/>"That might be true. But you're not mine," Bluestreak said as he rolled his hips, and he must have finally slid into Jazz, because a long moan slipped out of Jazz's mouth, his visor fluttering.<br/><br/>Bluestreak pulled Jazz back onto his spike, and Jazz slipped off Ricochet's mouth, until only the head of his spike lingered on his brother's glossa.<br/><br/>Ricochet grinned. Now that's what he was talking about.<br/><br/>"Is that right?" Ricochet asked as he thrust up and pulled on Jazz's shoulders, guiding Jazz back toward him, pushing down his intake. "Maybe you just need to give me a try."<br/><br/>"No, thanks." Bluestreak's panels fluttered at the tips, and he thrust into Jazz, harder, faster, jolting him forward, onto Ricochet's spike.<br/><br/>Jazz made a muffled noise, and his field flared with arousal, blanketing them in a buzzing surge of need. His hips moved, back against Bluestreak, charge crackling out from under his armor.<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled, dark and dangerous. He cupped his brother's head, and he started to move, quick and sharp thrusts. No more holding back. No more lingering. He wanted his overload, and he wanted it now.<br/><br/>Bluestreak, however, wasn't so easily bested. There was a flash in his optics, and he tightened his grip on Jazz's hips, pulling Jazz back onto his spike with equal fervor. Jazz was caught between them, the object of desire in a tug of war.<br/><br/>And he was clearly loving every minute of it.<br/><br/>Every muffled moan and whine went straight to Ricochet's spike. He cupped his brother's head and thrust harder, faster, his spike throbbing and dribbling pre-come down his brother's intake. Jazz moaned, oral lubricant dribbling out of the corners of his mouth, his frame writhing between them.<br/><br/>Jazz whined, looking up at him, begging without words to be allowed his pleasure.<br/><br/>"No," Bluestreak answered, and the hum of command in his voice gave Ricochet a little shiver. "You serve us first, pet."<br/><br/>Jazz shuddered, and his shoulders twitched, like he wanted to uncross his arms, and thought twice about it. He swallowed around Ricochet's mouth, glossa stroking and lapping urgently.<br/><br/>He was perfect.<br/><br/>Ricochet overloaded to that thought, thrusting deep, Jazz's nasal ridge pressed to his spike housing, spilling down his brother's intake. He growled as he came, visor flickering, and his field flared out of his control.<br/><br/>Jazz moaned around his spike, gulping down his spill, until suddenly he was pulled back, onto Bluestreak’s spike. Ricochet popped free of his mouth, and Jazz gasped as Bluestreak hauled him backward by a firm grip on his arms, drawing Jazz into an unsteady position on his knees. He was gorgeous like that, and Ricochet couldn’t get annoyed.<br/><br/>He watched the show instead as Bluestreak thrust into Jazz, long and steady strokes, and then he reached around and gripped Jazz’s spike, stroking him in squeezing pulls. Jazz keened, his visor flickering, pre-fluid spilling from the tip.<br/><br/>“P-please,” Jazz moaned.<br/><br/>“Wait,” Bluestreak said, his voice a sharp command, his hips slamming against Jazz’s aft.<br/><br/>Ricochet groaned to himself. They were both delicious. He really ought to share Jazz with Bluestreak more often, if only to see this again. Jazz submitted perfectly, and if he’d get his head out of his aft, he’d see how perfectly he fit with Bluestreak.<br/><br/>Jazz’s head hung, his vents coming in sharp gasps, charge licking out from his armor in bright, fuzzy bursts. Heat poured from him in waves, but Ricochet had to admire his self-control. He clung to their commands as though their forgiveness depended on his obedience.<br/><br/>And Bluestreak overloaded with a low, staticky groan, his sensory panels snapping high and rigid as he yanked Jazz onto his spike and went deliciously still, his optics a deep, cerulean blue. He was pretty gorgeous, and Ricochet wished they were a little more compatible. He’d love to be the one who made Bluestreak scream with pleasure.<br/><br/>Jazz twitched in Bluestreak’s grip, and a litany of pleas spilled from his lips. “Please, please, can I overload now? Please, sir, please.”<br/><br/>Ricochet grinned and caught Bluestreak’s gaze, giving a little nod of approval. He’d let Bluestreak take it from here because he was generous like that.<br/><br/>Bluestreak leaned in against Jazz’s back, nuzzling his head, his hand working faster on Jazz’s spike as he pressed close. “You’ve done well, pet,” he purred, and Jazz all but vibrated in his arms, engine whining a low keen, frame moving in arrhythmic jerks. “Overload for me.”<br/><br/>Ricochet moved forward quickly, caught his brother’s face with his hands and dragged him into a kiss, swallowing his moan as Jazz jerked and overloaded, spilling over Bluestreak’s fingers and spurting onto the bed beneath him. His engine screeched into a high pitch, and he must have overloaded from his valve as well, judging by the low groan of pleasure coming from Bluestreak.<br/><br/>Jazz stilled between them, caught in a rapturous ecstasy, until it let him go and dropped him, strut-less, into Ricochet’s arms. He twitched, little zips of charge crawling over his armor, his fans whirring and engine purring.<br/><br/>Bluestreak nuzzled his nape, gave his spike a little stroke before letting him go when Jazz released a quiet whine of protest. “Very good, pet,” he murmured and he tapped Jazz’s arms. “You can let go now.”<br/><br/>“He might need some help,” Ricochet said with a chuckle.<br/><br/>“I know.” Bluestreak shifted his weight, his hands sliding down Jazz’s arms to gently encourage them to disengage and straighten, causing the cables to creak and Jazz to wince.<br/><br/>“Come on. You’re sturdier than that,” Ricochet teased as he gave Jazz’s aft a playful pat.<br/><br/>Bluestreak gave him a look and slipped his fingers into Jazz’s shoulders, gently massaging the sore cables. “And you’re smarter than walking out on Blurr at a time like this.”<br/><br/>Ricochet worked his jaw. Touche.<br/><br/>“You got something to say?” he asked.<br/><br/>“We’re family. So it’s my business.” Bluestreak’s words were casual, but there was a hardness to his tone. “Both of you are being stupid. You love Echo. You love each other. You should be working together, not trying to blame each other for something that’s neither of your fault.” He gave Ricochet a narrow look. “And you shouldn’t be here. You should be home with Blurr.”<br/><br/>“You should,” Jazz mumbled, sounding exhausted.<br/><br/>“Can I leave you two without it falling to pieces?” Ricochet asked, only half-kidding, and maybe he was stalling. He didn’t look forward to the ball of anger which was surely his mate.<br/><br/>Bluestreak gave him a look. "I think we'll survive without you," he drawled. "Blurr's the one who needs you now."<br/><br/>"And Echo," Jazz said with a bit of a staticky crackle. His field clung to theirs with a warm, stickiness, his frame a loose languor draped against Ricochet's.<br/><br/>He gave Jazz a heave and a push, guiding him into Bluestreak's arms instead. Jazz flopped like he hadn't any energy, and hummed, nuzzling into Bluestreak's intake with a dopey smile on his face.<br/><br/>"Yeah, I know." Ricochet slipped off the bed and stretched, cables creaking, satisfaction thrumming through his lines. His volcanic anger toward Blurr was gone. He still carried quite the fury for Quicken. "What's the word on Quicken?"<br/><br/>"I've got a list of known associates and his various places of work, along with some seriously creepy pictures of his shrine to racers." Bluestreak shuddered theatrically. "I'm going to get cleaned up and then Jazz and I will hit the streets. We'll let you know what we find."<br/><br/>It would have to be enough for now. Ricochet could rant and rave and spend hours running around, but it would be pointless. They had to work smart.<br/><br/>"Go home, Ricochet," Jazz said, his visor flickering into brightness as he cuddled into Bluestreak. "And don't worry. We're gonna find Echo."<br/><br/>"It's what family's for," Bluestreak added.<br/><br/>Ricochet ex-vented his relief. "Yeah, I know,” he said. “Love you, too.”<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bluestreak's message pinged Blurr's inbox right as his pacing route took him by the massive window in the main room. He paused to skim the contents, venting a sigh which mixed relief and lingering anger.<br/><br/>Ricochet had been with them. Ricochet was on his way home now.<br/><br/>"Blurr?"<br/><br/>He waved off Drift's concern and sank down into the couch, his lower back aching, and Rebound shifting restlessly within his tank.<br/><br/>"Ricochet's on his way back," Blurr said.<br/><br/>"Well, that's good." Drift sat down beside him, offering an energon cube which looked to have been warmed and spiced.<br/><br/>"Thanks." Blurr took it, and gave it a sip, though his tanks roiled with queasiness, and little flutters of an ache clenched his belly. He rubbed his rounded abdomen, hiding a cringe.</p><p></p><div class="ljcut">
  <p>"Sure you don't want to talk about it?"</p>
  <p>Blurr gave Drift a baleful look over the edge of the cube. "I'm sure." He put the cube down, too queasy to give it more than a sip, and cupped his belly, trying to rub between the seams and soothe the odd cramping. "Ricochet threw a tantrum. That's it."</p>
  <p>"Seems like a bit more than that."</p>
  <p>Blurr climbed back to his feet and started to pace. He needed to be moving. He couldn't sit and relax. His son was out there in the arms of some weird stalker, and his partner was too busy throwing a childlike tantrum to be where he was most needed.</p>
  <p>"It was."</p>
  <p>"Bluestreak said you threw him out."</p>
  <p>Blurr sighed and scrubbed his forehead. "Bluestreak talks too much." Which was a lot, coming from Blurr, who was often told he talked too fast, but he'd spent a long, long time training himself to talk at a normal speed for other people. "But yeah, I did. He was being an aft, and if we'd kept on the way we were, I probably would have hit him."</p>
  <p>"But you're fine with him coming back?"</p>
  <p>"Yes. No. I don't know." Blurr continued his long route around the perimeter of the main room, his hand rubbing self-consciously over his ugly, rounded abdomen. He was domestic now. He was tamed. He wished he hated it more. "It's complicated."</p>
  <p>Drift watched him with that knowing gaze Blurr hated, just a little. "Relationships usually are. But you need to sit down, Blurr. You remember what Ratchet said."</p>
  <p>"I remember," Blurr gritted out. He forced his pace to slow, though it physically irked him. He tried to concentrate on ventilating, on calming himself down.</p>
  <p>It didn't work.</p>
  <p>"He hasn't made a ransom demand," Blurr said, because he'd much rather talk about Quicken and finding Echo, than the potential return of his mate and whatever confrontation would spill out of that.</p>
  <p>Drift sighed, almost too quiet for Blurr to hear, but he said, "Do you think he will?"</p>
  <p>"No. Quicken's not after money." Blurr gnawed on his bottom lip, guilt tightening into a knot behind his spark. "He's obsessed. He thinks my family is holding me back." He worked his intake, worry making his spark accelerate. "Do you think Echo is still alive?"</p>
  <p>"What!? Hey, of course he is!" Drift leapt up from the couch and intercepted Blurr on his route, his field radiating calm and reassurance. "Quicken was a Neutral. If he didn't have the bearings to fight in the war, no way he's going to hurt a sparkling."</p>
  <p>Blurr rolled his optics. "But he has no problem with kidnapping?"</p>
  <p>Drift rested his hands on Blurr's shoulders, giving him a squeeze. "He's alive," he said, tone firm. "If anything, this is a trap. Quicken hates Ricochet. If you ask me, it's Ricochet he's really after."</p>
  <p>"You think Echo is bait?"</p>
  <p>A dark something flickered across Drift's face, ugly and a bit frightening. "He's easier to grab than both you and Ricochet, and if there's one way to get your attention, Echo's definitely it." Drift worked his jaw, shame leaking into his field. "It's what I would've done."</p>
  <p>"Deadlock would have killed Echo. You're not reassuring me, Drift." Blurr ducked out from under his comfort and started pacing again. The urge to run from the apartment, run through the streets, look under every piece of debris, rattled through his struts.</p>
  <p>"No. I've done a lot of terrible, terrible things. But killing a sparkling like that? Not one of them." Drift shook his head and straightened his shoulders. "Even murderers have lines they don't cross, Blurr."</p>
  <p>"Yeah? And what makes you so sure this is Quicken's line?"</p>
  <p>"Because I chose to believe Echo is fine, and we're going to get him back, and Quicken is going to be in prison where he belongs," Drift said.</p>
  <p>Blurr stared at him, working his jaw. Sometimes, Drift's unfounded optimism was the most irritating thing about him. This was one of those times.</p>
  <p>It wasn't enough.</p>
  <p>Blurr spun on a heel and stomped toward the door.</p>
  <p>"Where are you going?" Drift hurried to follow.</p>
  <p>"To find my son. I can't wait anymore. I have to do something," Blurr snapped. He paused by the storage closet and keyed open his weapons locker, removing a few old friends he hadn't visited since the peace treaty was signed. The everyday blaster hidden in a thigh compartment wouldn't cut it.</p>
  <p>"You're just going to exhaust yourself," Drift protested.</p>
  <p>"At least I'll be doing something instead of standing around with my thumbs up my aft. He's my son, Drift," Blurr growled and slammed the locker shut, his frame feeling oddly awkward with all his armaments returned to it.</p>
  <p>"Blurr--"</p>
  <p>The front door beeped, and they both froze, staring as it slid open and Ricochet stepped inside. He saw Blurr immediately, and Ricochet froze as their optics met.</p>
  <p>"Hi, sweetspark. I'm home," Ricochet said after an awkward moment, offering a half-curved smirk.</p>
  <p>"Did you find our son?" Blurr asked.</p>
  <p>Ricochet stepped in fully, the door shutting behind him, and spread his hands. "Do you see him anywhere? Or maybe I have him stuffed in my subspace."</p>
  <p>Blurr folded his arms. "Then what the frag are you doing here?"</p>
  <p>"I live here," Ricochet said.</p>
  <p>"Not right now, you don't."</p>
  <p>Ricochet's mouth pressed together in a thin line, but his gaze slanted to Drift, visor flashing. "Do ya mind? This is private and personal."</p>
  <p>"I'll leave if Blurr wants me to leave," Drift said, and he stepped up beside Blurr in a show of solidarity, his field nudging Blurr's with support.</p>
  <p>"I'll be fine. Thanks, Drift. You should go home to Ratchet." Blurr, after all, wasn't afraid of Ricochet.</p>
  <p>"If you're sure." Drift gave Blurr an awkward smile before he aimed a glare at Ricochet and stormed up to him, shoving a finger in his face. "If you upset him, I will cut your spike off."</p>
  <p>Ricochet chuffed a vent. "Come back as Deadlock, and maybe I'll be scared."</p>
  <p>"I mean it! He's been having false contractions because of the stress," Drift snapped, and Blurr sighed. He hadn’t wanted that little detail to get out. "Don't fragging upset him!" He poked Ricochet in the chest for real this time.</p>
  <p>Blurr tensed.</p>
  <p>Ricochet's visor narrowed to a thin line. "He has?"</p>
  <p>"Yes. And if you'd been here, you'd know." Drift's engine growled. "So grow the frag up, Ricochet and solve this like an adult."</p>
  <p>"I'm fine," Blurr protested, rolling his optics. He grabbed Drift's shoulders, steering him toward the door. "Go home. Go snuggle Ratchet. Thank you for staying here, but seriously, go home."</p>
  <p>"I'm going. But I'll be back," Drift said as he held up his hands and made for the door, without a push this time. "I'm gonna help you look for Echo as soon as we got a lead."</p>
  <p>"I know you will. Thanks."</p>
  <p>"Anytime."</p>
  <p>"Hey, Drift!" Ricochet called as Drift got to the door, and turned around, a question written on his face. Ricochet patted his chassis and said, "You get one."</p>
  <p>Drift grinned, and it showed a lot of denta, specifically the sharpened ones he'd carried from his Decepticon days. For a moment, the shadow of Deadlock clung to him. "Sure."</p>
  <p>Ricochet chuckled, and Blurr wondered if he was the only who could hear the razorwire in it before Drift was gone, and they were alone. Blurr refused to break the silence, as awkward and tense as it was.</p>
  <p>"Was he telling the truth? Are you having false contractions?"</p>
  <p>"They come and go." Blurr shrugged and moved back into the living room, the weight of Ricochet's gaze on him. "Rebound's fine. He's not the one in the hands of a maniac."</p>
  <p>"We're gonna find him. Bluestreak and Jazz are interviewing people now, and I've got some contacts." Ricochet lifted his chin, jaw set. "I'm going to find our kid."</p>
  <p>Blurr folded his arms, eyeing Ricochet warily. "Is that what you came here to tell me?"</p>
  <p>"In part." Ricochet worked his jaw, and for the first time, some of his bravado seemed to falter. "And other things, too."</p>
  <p>Blurr arched an orbital ridge. "I'm listening."</p>
  <p>"Don't do that again," Ricochet said, and though his words were insistent, his voice and posture were soft. Relenting.</p>
  <p>Blurr crinkled his forehead. "Excuse me?"</p>
  <p>"Don't do that again. Don't throw me out of my house like I don't belong here." Ricochet worked his intake, his field fluttering where it nudged Blurr's own. "You're mad at me, fine, tell me to take a walk. But don't throw me out."</p>
  <p>Blurr's chassis tightened, like someone was squeezing his spark, at the barely concealed pain in Ricochet's voice. His expression gave nothing away, but it was there in the flutter of his field, and the crackle of his voice.</p>
  <p>"I can agree to that," Blurr said. It wasn't much to ask for honestly. "And you were right. I should have hired someone sooner. Echo, and Rebound deserve to have more of my time." He paused, cycled a ventilation, and firmed his voice. "But don't you dare tell me how I feel about my sparklings."</p>
  <p>Ricochet flinched. "I didn't mean that."</p>
  <p>"Yes, you did." Blurr dropped his arms and rubbed his abdomen, suddenly feeling the stress and the exhaustion all the way to his struts. Everything ached. "I know I don't fit the mold of what you picture to be a perfect genitor. I'm not like you. I didn't always dream of having a family, and I didn't plan for a sparkling. I love Echo, I do, but he wasn't in the plan, and I don't know what the frag I'm doing."</p>
  <p>Ricochet scrubbed a hand down his face. "I shouldn't have said it. I know. I get it. Your past is different than mine, and I shouldn't keep expecting things. You're not my carrier. You're not my sire. You're you."</p>
  <p>Blurr gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "I can't... I'm never going to meet your expectations. I'm just not. It doesn't come easy to me."</p>
  <p>"I know. I'm the one who needs to get over myself." Ricochet moved in closer, and rather than retreat, Blurr allowed the embrace, letting Ricochet fold his arms around him. "You're not going to leave them. I know that. I just need to remember it."</p>
  <p>"Yeah, you do," Blurr said, but the squeezing around his spark eased, and he clung to Ricochet, perhaps a bit more strongly than he needed to. "We gotta find Echo. We can't do it if we're fighting each other."</p>
  <p>Ricochet pulled back and cupped Blurr's face, pulling their foreheads close. "We're going to find Echo. And I'm going to rip out Quicken's spark."</p>
  <p>"I can get behind both of those things," Blurr murmured as he closed the distance and pressed his mouth to Ricochet's for a fierce kiss, an impact of their lips into which he poured all of his conflicting emotions.</p>
  <p>He was worried about Echo. He was exhausted and aching, and left emotionally wrung out by the past day -- had it only been a day cycle? -- but for the first time, he was starting to feel like things were getting back on track.</p>
  <p>He and Ricochet had taken down Whipstrike together after all. Surely one obsessed fan would be a snap.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p>"Thank you."</p>
  <p>Bluestreak scrubbed Jazz's back with a firmer hand. "You're gonna have to be more specific, pet. What're you thanking me for?"</p>
  <p>Jazz sighed and hung his head, bracing his hands on the shower wall. "For handling Ricochet like ya did. I know he's not easy."</p>
  <p>"Honestly, you're the difficult one, far as I can tell."</p>
  <p>Jazz snorted a laugh, and his field gave Bluestreak a playful swat. "Not what I meant." He paused and audibly cycled a ventilation. "It's just... we didn't have good genitors, ya know. I told ya that. We didn't get raised right. And Rico's got a chip on his shoulder when it comes to genitors."</p>
  <p>"You should be telling Blurr this," Bluestreak said.</p>
  <p>"I'm sure Blurr knows. I hope he does." Jazz kneaded the shower wall, just to give his fingers something to do. "Our carrier vanished on us. Just walked out. Couldn't handle raising two sparklings when they didn't even want one. Our sire did the best he could, but his spark wasn't in it, and we knew it."</p>
  <p>Bluestreak's field nudged his, warm with affection. "Blurr's not going to do the same thing."</p>
  <p>"I know that. You know that. Frag, even Ricochet knows that. It's just..." Jazz trailed off, and he turned around, sliding his arms around Bluestreak, voice muffled against Bluestreak's chassis. "But old wounds, ya know? Sometimes, they come back and bite us."</p>
  <p>"And what's your wound?"</p>
  <p>Jazz went still, his visor flickering. "What do you mean?"</p>
  <p>Bluestreak dropped the sponge and pressed a knuckle under Jazz's chin, tilting his head up. "What wound did I disturb to make you run away from me?"</p>
  <p>Jazz worked his intake, swallowing thickly. "I wasn't runnin'. I was..." He trailed off and sighed, shame twisting inside of him. "Okay. Mebbe I was runnin' a little bit."</p>
  <p>“Is it too much?” Bluestreak asked, and the question was soft, barely audible over the spatter of the solvent, and the whirring of their fans behind their closed vents.</p>
  <p>Jazz would have tilted his head, if he hadn’t wanted to lose Bluestreak’s touch. “What?”</p>
  <p>“You. Me. Our contract.” Bluestreak stroked gently down Jazz’s intake, his fingers a soft brush over the sensitive cables. “Us.”</p>
  <p>“No.” Jazz shook his head and stepped closer, into the heavier rings of Bluestreak’s field. “No, that’s not what it’s about. I swear.”</p>
  <p>Bluestreak reached past him and shut off the solvent, leaving the washrack uncomfortably silent and echoing, save for the dripping of the sprayer, which constantly leaked. Jazz had been meaning to fix that. “Then tell me.”</p>
  <p>Jazz sighed. He would have lowered his gaze, but it felt wrong to do so. Bluestreak deserved better than an answer told to the floor.</p>
  <p>“I quit, Blue,” he said. “I quit, and you shined, and I was bored, and you weren’t here, and I was startin’ to forget who I was. I thought I was losing myself. And I just…” He trailed off, catching himself when he realized he’d started to run on and on like Bluestreak. The words caught in the back of his intake.</p>
  <p>Bluestreak embraced him. “You panicked.”</p>
  <p>“I panicked,” Jazz admitted.</p>
  <p>The silence was suffocating. Bluestreak’s field gave nothing away, master of it he was, though his embrace stayed warm and affectionate.</p>
  <p>“Do you still want it? Want us?” Bluestreak asked.</p>
  <p>Jazz jerked out of his arms to look up, to catch Bluestreak’s optics so he could read the truth. “Yes. Of course I do! It’s just, it can’t be all. I gotta get back out there. I gotta be <em>me</em> again.”</p>
  <p>Bluestreak tilted his head, his sensory panels sinking from the high arch Jazz’s sudden movement had caused. “I wasn’t the one stopping you, and I’m not going to apologize for taking the job, no matter what issue you have with Prowl.”</p>
  <p>“I already know that, and I didn’t say you were.”</p>
  <p>“You know, Prowl isn’t the only mech with power in this city, Jazz,” Bluestreak said as he reached for Jazz again, and he allowed the embrace.</p>
  <p>“You’re not making sense,” Jazz said.</p>
  <p>“Maybe because I’m a little more Decepticon than you think I am,” Bluestreak chuckled and kissed his forehead before leaning around Jazz to flick the washrack on. “Come on. Let’s finish washing up, and then we have work to do.”</p>
  <p>Jazz cupped the back of Bluestreak’s neck, causing Bluestreak to look at him. “Are we good?”</p>
  <p>Bluestreak tipped their foreheads together. “Don’t you ever leave again. Not like that. Not without a conversation.”</p>
  <p>“I can do that,” Jazz said, around a lump in his intake. It was the least he could do.</p>
  <p>“Then yeah, we’re good.” Bluestreak smiled, and it made Jazz’s spark ache, to see that familiar smile, and feel that familiar warm embrace of Bluestreak’s field. “Or at least, as good as we can be right now without having a serious conversation, like where you were and what you were doing. But it can wait until we find Echo.”</p>
  <p>Jazz’s spark gave a little tremble. “Serious conversation, huh?”</p>
  <p>“I think we need to revisit our contract.” Bluestreak stroked his cheek again, and the warmth of his touch along with the press of his field was just enough to reassure. “And we both need to discuss terms about what we want from each other, what’s acceptable and what’s not.”</p>
  <p>“Fair enough,” Jazz murmured, and leaned into Bluestreak’s touch, venting a soft sigh. “I really am sorry, Blue. I wasn’t thinkin’. I was just…”</p>
  <p>“Reacting. I know.” Bluestreak pressed a kiss to his forehead and then bent down, grabbing up the scrubber. “Come on. We gotta get cleaned up, and then I need your help if we’re going to find Echo.”</p>
  <p>Jazz turned and snagged another scrubber for himself. “Kiddo first, then us. Promise.”</p>
  <p>Bluestreak smiled, and it made Jazz weak in the knees, to see most of the shadows finally gone from his optics, and his sensory panels lifting once more. “It’s good to have my partner back,” he said.</p>
  <p>Jazz’s spark hummed with warmth.</p>
  <p>Primus, he’d been such a fool.</p>
  <p>“It’s good to be home,” Jazz said, and he meant it.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p>Drift didn't go home, but only because he knew Ratchet wouldn't be there. Instead, he went to the main medical facility, and up to the administration floor, then back to the corner office, where he knew he'd find his mate.</p>
  <p>He didn't bother to knock. Just tipped his head in greeting to the floor administrative aide -- a Neutral by the name of Enovate -- and let himself into Ratchet's office. Soft music floated in the air, and the sharp odor of relaxation crystals tickled Drift's olfactory sensors. He grinned despite himself.</p>
  <p>He knew he'd convince Ratchet eventually.</p>
  <p>"Is it intermission?" Ratchet asked without looking up from his datapads, his forehead with that little furrow of concentration in it which Drift found so endearing.</p>
  <p>"I think it's actually the end of the show," Drift said as he came around the desk and leaned in to brush his lips over that furrow. "Ricochet is back where he belongs, and Jazz is home with Bluestreak, from what I hear."</p>
  <p>Ratchet snorted and tipped his head up for a brief kiss. "We can hope," he said, and his lips curved in a soft smile. "Was Blurr staying calm?"</p>
  <p>"Do you really want me to answer that?"</p>
  <p>Ratchet snorted and shifted his attention back to his datapads, idly tapping the end of the stylus to the gentle beat of the music. "If he goes into early labor, he's not going to get the valve birth he wants."</p>
  <p>"He's stubborn. They both are." Drift moved to Ratchet's other side and leaned back against the desk so he could see Ratchet's face. "And understandably worried. I'd be, too, if I was in their position."</p>
  <p>"Everyone's doing the best they can. Right now, the best thing Blurr can do is try and stay calm for Rebound's sake." Ratchet gestured absently toward his monitor, which had been silenced, but was playing a steady stream of news. "There's a whole city looking for Echo and Quicken. Someone knows something."</p>
  <p>He was right.</p>
  <p>Drift glanced at the monitor. A ticket along the bottom of the screen scrolled headlines constantly, and he caught the tail end of an announcement regarding the search for Echo, but the report currently onscreen was also about Echo. There was a picture of both him and Quicken in the background while the news anchor spoke on the situation.</p>
  <p>"The war's over, but people hold onto grudges for a long time. You really think someone will speak up?" Drift asked. He certainly hoped so, for Echo's sake, but his confidence in the good-nature of others had taken a beating during the war.</p>
  <p>Ratchet sighed and put the stylus down, reaching for Drift's hand. "Right now, it's the best chance anyone has. Echo's a sparkling. I'd like to think Cybertron still has a conscience."</p>
  <p>The comm code for a tipline flashed on the screen. It could be anonymous, if anyone felt the need, and Drift hoped that was enough reassurance for the wary.</p>
  <p>"Wherever he is, it's gotta be a trap," Drift said, thinking of his conversation with Blurr, and Quicken's possible motivations. Quicken likely wanted to hurt Ricochet, kill him even. He was probably counting on them finding him. "They're going to need back up."</p>
  <p>Ratchet squeezed his hand and gave it a little pull, catching his attention. Drift cocked his head and went with the tug, right into Ratchet's lap.</p>
  <p>"They've got Bluestreak and Jazz, and believe it or not, relatively reliable Enforcers to call in. You don't have to take this bullet for them." Ratchet rested a hand on Drift's abdomen, and there was a thickness in his voice. "I would ask that you don't."</p>
  <p>Drift cycled his optics. He looked down at Ratchet's hand, but fear mingled with the hope, clogging up his intake. He rested his hand over Ratchet's.</p>
  <p>"You mean...?"</p>
  <p>Ratchet lifted his free hand and cupped Drift's face, sweeping a thumb over his cheek. "If my instruments are at all accurate, yes, I mean. First Aid was right. We just needed to keep trying."</p>
  <p>Joy caught in Drift's intake before it spilled out of his vocalizer. He didn't know if he could smile broadly enough, and he grabbed Ratchet's face and pulled him in for a kiss, his field bursting like fireworks.</p>
  <p>He was sparked.</p>
  <p>He was <em>sparked</em>.</p>
  <p>Ratchet's instruments were never wrong. Drift was sparked. They were sparked. They were going to have a sparkling together.</p>
  <p>"I... I can't say no if they need me," Drift babbled in between kisses as Ratchet's happiness seeped into his own. "But I won't volunteer, and I'll make sure to protect myself. Us. Our family."</p>
  <p>Ratchet brushed their nasal ridges together. "I already know you will."</p>
  <p>Drift pressed his forehead to Ratchet's. "I love you so much. You know that, right?"</p>
  <p>“Wouldn’t have made you my conjunx if I didn’t,” Ratchet said and placed his hand over Drift’s, their fingers interlocking as they cupped Drift’s flat abdomen -- and Ratchet had already told him it was likely to stay flat through his carry. He had more internal space than Blurr.</p>
  <p>“I thought it was my stunning good looks,” Drift said.</p>
  <p>Ratchet snorted and rolled his optics. “And your annoyingly optimistic personality.” He pressed closer, voice lowering as though it embarrassed him. “I love you, too.”</p>
  <p>Drift beamed. Getting Ratchet to say it was one of the best things in the world, because Ratchet hoarded his words like a dragon hoarded treasure. Drift knew he was loved, Ratchet showed it in everyway that mattered, but he liked hearing the words, too.</p>
  <p>“You done with work?” Drift asked, trying not to vibrate out of his armor with happiness. “I’m suddenly feeling the urge to take you home.”</p>
  <p>“I think I can work something out,” Ratchet said, and kissed him again, long and lingering, warm and savoring.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p>The front door chimed, and Ricochet glanced at Blurr with a frown. They didn’t often get visitors, and those who did come to call generally knew to let themselves in, or comm ahead of time. They didn’t get anonymous callers.</p>
  <p>Blurr pulled a blaster from his thigh compartment, an old thing Ricochet recognized from war-time, and checked the charge on it.</p>
  <p>Ricochet grinned. He knew there was a reason he loved this mech.</p>
  <p>“You get the door,” Blurr said. “I’ve got your back.”</p>
  <p>"I know you do." Ricochet pulled him in for a kiss before letting go and approaching the door, every internal alarm on high alert. They didn't even use the front door, preferring to come up from the bar every time.</p>
  <p>This was so unusual to merit caution.</p>
  <p>Ricochet opened the door, and an unfamiliar mech stood on the other side, bulky, all sharp angles and boxy shapes, carrying the reek of construction work. He hunched his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. Amber optics stared back at Ricochet before dropping to the ground.</p>
  <p>"Can I help you?" Ricochet asked.</p>
  <p>The mech rebooted his vocalizer and it made a grinding noise. "Sorry to bother you, I actually came to, um, help you. If I can."</p>
  <p>Ricochet stared at him. "How's that?" he asked as Blurr stepped up beside him, blaster out of view, but his posture tense.</p>
  <p>"I work with Quicken," the mech said, and when Ricochet's engine growled, the big mech flinched and shrank back a half-step. "And I think, I think I might know where he might be hiding."</p>
  <p>"Where?" Blurr demanded as Ricochet put a hand on his mate's shoulder and pulled him back, closer to Ricochet.</p>
  <p>"Why would you want to help? What's in it for you?" Ricochet asked, careful to keep his tone even though his smile bared his fanged denta. "And how do we know you're not working with him and this is a trap?"</p>
  <p>The mech paled, his gaze shifting from Blurr to Ricochet and back again. His fingers tangled together before he tapped one of his arm panels and produced a small holo-cube, which he squeezed. His expression instantly softened as the image of a mechlet flashed into view, a smaller, splitting image of the mech standing before them.</p>
  <p>"This is my sparkling, Acute," he said, and the pride in his voice was evident. "He's my everything, and if something happened to him, I'd... I don't know what I'd do."</p>
  <p>"He looks a little younger than Echo," Blurr observed, and some of his wariness eased, though Ricochet remained cautious.</p>
  <p>The mech nodded. "He'll start school next year." He smiled, soft and full of pride as he looked at the holo-cube before he stowed it away and straightened with a little cough. "I'm Survey, and I work with Quicken on one of the build crews. He used to grumble a lot, when he thought no one was listening, and he'd talk to anyone who seemed receptive about the old days, and the races. Was a big racing fan, he was."</p>
  <p>Blurr nodded. "I knew that much."</p>
  <p>Survey slid his gaze to Ricochet. "But he hated you. Didn't have much use for us in general, Decepticons I mean, but he really hated you. Blamed you for a lot of things."</p>
  <p>"I'm not for everyone, what can I say?" Ricochet shrugged, but kept his razor-sharp smile. "You're tellin' us stuff we know. If you don't have anything helpful, why'd you bother coming?"</p>
  <p>Survey sucked in a vent, tangling his fingers together. "Quicken complained a lot about the fact we weren't rebuilding the stadiums yet. He always said he'd start doing it himself if no one would listen. He wanted to start with the racetracks, kept trying to get us to join his little work crews, do it off the clock."</p>
  <p>"You really think he's hiding at one of the stadiums?" Blurr asked.</p>
  <p>Survey nodded. "Quicken was obsessed with them. He kept saying that if he could rebuild them, it would be the greatest gift, a way to prove his devotion. He never said your designation but..." At this, Survey looked a little uncomfortable. "I mean, he never stopped talking about how amazing you were either."</p>
  <p>"Well, you are pretty amazing," Ricochet said as he slid an arm around Blurr, feeling the rattle in Blurr's armor, barely contained. "But Quicken's a bit more than an eager fan."</p>
  <p>"If he's hiding anywhere, it'd be in one of the stadiums. I'm sure of it," Survey said.</p>
  <p>And well, Ricochet had to admit, it made sense. Quicken hadn't made a call for a ransom, and his hatred of Ricochet was pretty clear, as was his love for Blurr. If this was about his obsession with the Racer Blurr, then it stood to reason, he'd set the stage for whatever grand plan he'd made, in one of the stadiums.</p>
  <p>"It's worth a try," Blurr said. "We'll check it out. Thanks, Survey."</p>
  <p>Survey nodded and stepped further back. "You're welcome. I just... I hope you find your sparkling. He needs to be home with his family."</p>
  <p>"He does," Ricochet said, and tipped his head. "We appreciate the information."</p>
  <p>Survey nodded again and walked away, bits of construction grit flaking off his frame. He'd seemed sincere enough. Ricochet hoped his information panned out.</p>
  <p>He let the door close and turned toward Blurr, who looked contemplative, while a storm raged in his optics.</p>
  <p>"I won the Primus Cup three years in a row at Nova's Stand," Blurr said as he folded his arms over his chassis. "If Survey's tip has any merit, that's where Quicken would be."</p>
  <p>"You think?"</p>
  <p>Blurr firmed his jaw. "I would've won a fourth if the war hadn't escalated the way it did." He lifted his shoulders. "I can't assume I know how a maniac thinks, but it's the kind of thing that gnaws at an obsessed fan."</p>
  <p>Ricochet pulled Blurr into his arms to quell the rage building inside of him. "Then let's go. Now. Check it out. I don't want to leave Echo there a minute more if we don't have to."</p>
  <p>"Me either." Blurr stepped back and slid his blaster back from whence it came. "Tell Jazz and Blue. They can check out the other stadiums. But we'll go to Nova's."</p>
  <p>Ricochet cupped his face and pressed their foreheads together. "We will get Echo back, and we're going to make Quicken regret taking our kid."</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>***</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nova's loomed in front of them, a crumbling, shambling hulk of broken dreams and empty promises, a rusting lump of former greatness, decaying more and more with each passing year. It represented, to Ricochet, all the reasons why he'd become a Decepticon.<br/><br/>"If you even think about telling me to wait outside, I will shoot you and then go in by myself," Blurr said with a stubborn set to his chin.<br/><br/>"Wouldn't dream of it," Ricochet said, even though he'd been thinking of doing exactly that. Did they know each other so well already?<br/><br/>How the world had turned.<br/><br/>"Good." Blurr's expression was hard, set in battle-mood, but there was something haunted in his optics. This place probably held good memories for him. "We do this together."<br/><br/>"After you." Ricochet gestured in a sweeping bow. After all, Blurr knew this building far better than he did, even in it's current decrepit state.<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his optics, but led the way.<br/><br/>They did a quick reconnaissance around the perimeter first, Ricochet looking for traps, signs of active cameras, the works. He couldn't see anything worrisome, but it was Blurr who spotted the door with recent signs of tampering. It had been forced open and shut multiple times – obvious signs of a squatter or otherwise. It was as good a point of entry as anything.<br/><br/>The door creaked and screeched open, rattling loudly through the eerie stillness.<br/><br/>"There goes our element of surprise," Ricochet muttered.<br/><br/>"If he's here, he knew we'd find him eventually. There's no surprise," Blurr said. "We already know we're walking into a trap."<br/><br/>"Fair enough."<br/><br/>In they went, Ricochet taking point, but following Blurr's directions. Inside, it was dim and dusty, smelling of rust and lingering traces of death, as if mechs had dragged themselves in here to go offline, leaving their grayed corpses in the ashes of a once-great institution.<br/><br/>My, he was feeling poetic today, wasn't he?<br/><br/>Ricochet snorted to himself. His armor crawled, and the discomfort made him antsy. He hated knowing he was walking into a trap. He hated the anticipation of waiting for it to spring.<br/><br/>The door must have been some kind of service entrance. There were janitorial facilities here. Docks for cleaning drones, long since scavenged for parts, and rows of cleaning supplies by the empty barrel -- no doubt also drained to make explosives during the war. Rusted signs on the wall gave a fair indication of direction.<br/><br/>Then they reached an intersection of hallways, the right leading toward the locker rooms, the left leading toward the green room.<br/><br/>"We should split up," Blurr said. "It's the only way to do this quickly."<br/><br/>Ricochet frowned. Both hallways were equally dim and shadowed and cluttered with debris. The silence was suffocating. Footsteps in the dust went both directions.<br/><br/>"I don't like that," he said.<br/><br/>"I don't want to waste time sticking together when we're both capable of looking after ourselves," Blurr said, and started toward the green room. "Comm me if you find anything."<br/><br/>Ricochet knew a lost argument when he heard one. "You know, you're pretty hot when you take command like that."<br/><br/>Blurr rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the pride in his field. "Go find our son."<br/><br/>Despite everything, Ricochet managed a chuckle. He watched Blurr vanish into the dim, trying to ignore the niggle of apprehension in his tank, before he turned toward the lockers, blaster drawn and sensors on high alert.<br/><br/>Quicken was here; Ricochet was sure of it.<br/><br/>Every step was cautious. His scanners continuously swept the hall ahead of him, behind him, above him, below him. No traps. No alarms. Nothing but the signs of foot traffic, and the uncomfortable quiet.<br/><br/>He passed dusty displays, cracked vidscreens, fading posters declaring the wonders of racing, and the stars who had made history. One of them Ricochet faintly recognized as Blurr, though the color had long since faded. That silly crest of his was unmistakable. As was that cocky grin.<br/><br/>There were three locker rooms. The first he checked held nothing but empty lockers and scattered debris and yes, a few gray corpses, slumped together in a corner. The second, however, made his armor stand on end. He could hear something in here, something moving, ventilating, and tiny whimpers.<br/><br/>Ricochet's spark leapt into his intake. He knew those whimpers.<br/><br/>He hurried, rounding the corner to what seemed to be special, private lockers for the bigger stars. The doors had been forced open, two of them slightly ajar, and when Ricochet peered into the first, it took every ounce of his instincts not to dart inside, straight to Echo.<br/><br/>He made himself check for traps first, signs of tampering, pressure sensitive plates, wiring for bombs, anything that could hurt Echo or himself before he got there. He sent off a comm to Blurr as he scanned, jittering in place, every second he waited a special kind of torture.<br/><br/>His scans came back negative, and Ricochet stowed his blaster, hurrying into the room. Echo was laying on a bed of dirty, torn washrags. There was a cuff around one of his wrists, connected to a chain which was then attached to a pipe.<br/><br/>Monster.<br/><br/>Ricochet was going to rip out Quicken’s intake with his <em>denta</em>.<br/><br/>He skidded to his knees by his sparkling, who shivered in a restful recharge, but stirred as Ricochet touched him. His optics fluttered open, hazy like he'd been drugged, and his frame was overly hot.<br/><br/>Anger made Ricochet's engine roar, but he tried to quiet it for Echo's sake.<br/><br/>"Daddy?" Echo's voice crackled with confusion, and then relief. "You came!"<br/><br/>"Of course I did, silly bit. Didn't I tell you I'd protect you?" Ricochet pulled Echo into his lap and glared at the cuffs. They were stupidly easy to pick for someone like him.<br/><br/>Echo threw himself to Ricochet's chest, clinging tightly. "I was so scared, Daddy."<br/><br/>"I know. It's okay. I got you." Ricochet wrapped an arm around Echo, holding him tight, as the last cuff fell away. "Mama's on his way. We both came for you. And that bad mech is never going to hurt you again."<br/><br/>'Blurr?'<br/><br/>'I'm coming!'<br/><br/>Echo shook, and the rage kept building higher. He would eviscerate Quicken, tear him limb from limb. He would make the mech regret he'd ever been sparked.<br/><br/>Ricochet tucked Echo into his arms and drew his blaster with the other hand. They still didn't know where Quicken was.<br/><br/>"Come on, Echo. Let's find Mama and get out of here," Ricochet said, and he turned to go.<br/><br/>Heat and pain exploded in his left knee, his leg immediately crumbling beneath him. Ricochet toppled, and instinct tucked Echo into his frame, shielding his sparkling even as he dropped.<br/><br/>"Daddy!" Echo's shriek echoed in his audials.<br/><br/>Ricochet swung his blaster in the direction the shot must have come from, and looked up into the business end of a laser rifle.<br/><br/>"Drop it," Quicken said in a cold voice, looking down at him with wild optics and a shaky finger hovering on the trigger.<br/><br/>Ricochet’s blaster clattered to the floor. He didn't need it to kill Quicken anyway.<br/><br/>"Are you going to actually use that weapon, or is this all some show?" Ricochet asked as Echo whimpered and tried to crawl under his armor. He did his best to put himself between the end of that weapon and his sparkling.<br/><br/>The rifle wavered, but Quicken’s glare didn’t. “It’s not a show,” Quicken snapped, indignant, his optics bright. “It’s something that has to be done. I take no pleasure in it. But it has to be done. You’re a weight, you see, both of you. A weight dragging him down.”<br/><br/>Stall.<br/><br/>He had to stall.<br/><br/>Blurr would be here any moment, and all Ricochet had to do was stall, wait for his chance. He didn’t dare attack unless he could be sure Echo would be safe. He didn’t trust Quicken’s temperament. He didn’t trust the tremble of Quicken’s trigger finger.<br/><br/>“You’re delusional,” Ricochet growled, because if there was one thing crazy mechs couldn’t resist, it was arguing that they weren’t crazy.<br/><br/>“I’m practical,” Quicken corrected. He shifted his weight, the blaster wavering, the muzzle twitching toward Echo, and Ricochet adjusted, curving around his sparkling. “Blurr is meant for greater things. For adoration and trophies. Not a life as some domestic, some housemech bending the knee to a Decepticon.”<br/><br/>His vocals grew louder with every word, until the last was a shriek, punctuated by a forward thrust of the rifle, butting up against Ricochet’s head.<br/><br/>Ricochet flinched. Echo whimpered.<br/><br/>“Blurr’s not happy. He’s miserable. He wants to run, to race, and you’ve turned him into… into a sparkling factory!” Quicken’s fans spun so quickly they whined, and he started to wave his free hand wildly, the rifle humming in arrhythmic octaves as his fingers twitched on the controls.<br/><br/>His knee throbbed. It ached. The stench of burnt circuitry and armor, the hissing as it sparked beneath his weight, filled the room. Echo’s crying and desperate hold made the rage burn brighter.<br/><br/>Blurr.<br/><br/><em>Hurry</em>.<br/><br/>“Ask him then,” Ricochet growled, holding his visor static, but letting his gaze skip past Quicken, toward the door and beyond, hoping to see a shift in the light, in the shadows. “If you’re so convinced he’s miserable, why don’t you ask him?”<br/><br/>Quicken barked a laugh. “He’ll lie. He’s convinced himself this is what he wants. But he’s wrong. He’s <em>wrong</em>.” He shifted, doing a little dance in place, and Unicron, this mech was crazy. He needed to be put down hard. “He can’t do what needs to be done so I… I’m going to do it for him.”<br/><br/>Quicken nodded, and his field pulsed heavy and thick through the room, suffocating in its glee and self-righteousness.<br/><br/>“He can’t get rid of the dead weight in his life, so I’ll do it for him, and then he’ll be free to be what he’s meant to be.” Quicken licked his lips. “He’ll realize how much I love him.”<br/><br/>Ricochet clenched his jaw.<br/><br/>Damn it.<br/><br/>‘<em>Blurr. I’m about to do something drastic</em>.’<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Stadiums and racetracks had always felt like home to Blurr, like a place he belonged. Not so much anymore. It was creepy to be here now, and Blurr was not a mech easily unsettled. It was dark and dirty and reeked of death. It was a shamble of debris and shattered dreams, and as much as he wanted to hear the echoes of an adoring crowd, all he could see was the rich life he’d led while under his feet, the rest of Cybertron suffered.<br/><br/>He wanted to race again, but not like how it used to be. Not anymore.<br/><br/>It made him ill, his tank twisting and churning into knots.<br/><br/>There were corpses in the green room, mechs who looked like they’d crawled here in a desperate attempt to find somewhere decent to die. They’d starved or been injured and had nowhere else to go. They weren’t marked as Autobot or Decepticon, which meant they’d just been civilians caught in the crossfire of the emerging war.<br/><br/>It hadn’t occurred to Blurr, until now, to feel guilty.<br/><br/>Beyond the green room was a different story. It was clear Quicken had been trying to effect repairs as best he could. Walls had been reinforced, debris cleared, a fresh coat of paint slapped over cracks and dents. He didn’t know where Quicken had found them either, but posters had been hung on the walls, old things, of Blurr in the height of his popularity.<br/><br/>They weren’t the faded and worn images he’d passed in the hallway earlier. These looked new, like they’d been freshly printed. It was like some kind of monument to Blurr, and it creeped him the frag out.<br/><br/>Quicken had been living here, too. Or at least, someone had. One of the storage rooms had been turned into a living space with a berth and a portable energon converter and…<br/><br/>Blurr’s tanks churned again, and he worked his intake, trying to keep it down. Was it a shrine? Was that the best word for the display he found on a shelf, pictures of him, tickets preserved in laminate, a bottle of what had to be streamer tape and burst balloons? The sight should fill him with nostalgia, but all it did was overwhelm him with a creeping dread.<br/><br/>Quicken wasn’t like Wirelight. He had entirely different motives.<br/><br/>And then Ricochet’s comm came through, and Blurr had turned away from the nauseating display. He hadn’t found Quicken, but Ricochet had found Echo, and really, Echo was all who mattered.<br/><br/>Blurr turned and ran away from the madness.<br/><br/>‘I’m coming,’ he said.<br/><br/>He found his way back to where their paths diverged, glancing at the walls to find the signs to reassure him he was on the right route. It was odd, wasn’t it, how in a place so dirty and disused, that the signs should be so legible.<br/><br/>‘Hurry,’ Ricochet said, and it was a comm, not his actual voice, sent perhaps because he couldn’t speak, and panic forced Blurr into a run, a speed he rarely indulged anymore because there was no reason to let himself fly.<br/><br/>He was slow, held back by the weight of his gestational tank, and it was a stern reminder that as much as he had to get to Ricochet and Echo, he had to protect Rebound, too. He was two sparks right now, not one.<br/><br/>Blurr ran, and slowed as he approached the lockers. He tightened his grip on his blaster, spark hammering in his chassis. He didn’t want to run in blind, but then the sound of a lasershot echoed around the empty space, and rationality flew out the window.<br/><br/>Blurr darted inside, toward the sound, sprinting through the main locker room, to one of the private racks, skidding to a stop, his spark leaping into his intake. The stench of spilled energon and fear choked him as he took it all in a glance.<br/><br/>Ricochet on the floor, curled around a wailing Echo, energon pooling from multiple wounds, his denta gritted and his field spiking fury. Quicken standing over them with a blaster, his back to the door, only to turn at the sound of Blurr’s arrival. Joy brightened his face, sheer unadulterated delight.<br/><br/>“Blurr!” He grinned, face splitting wide. “You’re here!”<br/><br/>Blurr didn’t see red.<br/><br/>He saw a kaleidoscope of fury, and he fired before he thought twice about it, two shots, one slamming into Quicken’s elbow, forcing him to drop the blaster, the other hitting Quicken in the hip, sending him stumbling into a spin.<br/><br/>“About time you joined the party,” Ricochet said, his vocals grating and gurgling, like fluid was spilling into his vents.<br/><br/>Blurr threw himself between his family and the monster, his thoughts spinning as Quicken groaned, holding himself up against the wall, looking at Blurr with betrayal and confusion.<br/><br/>“I don’t understand,” he said as he cupped his hip, energon spilling out, trickling down his thigh. “”This is what’s best, Blurr. Can’t you see? You need to be free. You need to compete.”<br/><br/>Blurr shot him again, taking out his left knee, and Quicken crumpled with a gasp, face contorting with pain, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to make up for what he’d done.<br/><br/>“You had no right,” Blurr growled, furious and aching, and Echo’s weeps making his energon boil while Ricochet’s vents gurgled, and he struggled to stand, energon seeping from injuries Blurr hadn’t had enough time to count. “This is my family. Mine. You don’t touch them.”<br/><br/>Quicken shook his head, tried to get back to his feet, but his knee sparked and spat fluids, and he crumpled back down. “You’re a star. You deserve better. You’re meant for more. They’re only holding you back.” He fumbled at his side.<br/><br/>Blurr shot his hand, palm and fingers splatting to the ground, and Quicken whimpered. He didn’t know what the fragger was reaching for, and he didn’t care.<br/><br/>“Shut up,” Blurr growled, and he realized his hands were shaking, the blaster wavering as he pointed it at Quicken, looking more and more pathetic and confused and sparkbroken. “You took my son. You threatened and hurt my conjunx. You…”<br/><br/>He broke off, the anger roiling inside of him, the worry. He thought about Rebound and Echo, he thought about anyone else who might think it was a good idea to try and destroy Blurr’s family for their own selfish obsessions.<br/><br/>He thought he needed to make a statement.<br/><br/>“You’ll never understand,” Blurr said as he took one step closer to Quicken, looming over him, his spark squeezing and squeezing, and every instinct clamoring at him to protect. “This is my life, and no one is going to choose it for me. Not you.” He paused, worked his jaw, and his voice went as cold as he could make it. “And not anyone else who might come after.”<br/><br/>Blurr lifted his blaster, he aimed, but as he squeezed the trigger, Ricochet stumbled against him from behind, and the shot went wide, scorching the wall to the side of Quicken’s head. He yelped and cowered, weeping, as Blurr whipped around to catch Ricochet, who slumped against him, still cradling Echo, energon dribbling from the corner of his mouth.<br/><br/>“We need to get Echo home,” he said, his visor pale with pain, energon streaking over his armor. “He’s scared.”<br/><br/>Blurr cycled his optics. He cycled a ventilation. Then two. “You?” he asked, and the clatter in the room was his armor trembling. “Why did you stop me?”<br/><br/>“Because we need to take Echo home,” Ricochet said and tipped his head against Blurr’s, ventilating raspily. “And that’s not who we are anymore, remember? Jazz and Bluestreak will be here. Let the Enforcers finish the rest.”<br/><br/>“He needs to die,” Blurr murmured as Quicken moaned brokenly behind him, garbling something about shattered dreams and empty promises.<br/><br/>Ricochet leaned heavily against him and reached around, pushing his arm down and as a result, shifting his aim away from Quicken. “No doubt about that, but we’re trying to be good mechs for our sparklings, right?”<br/><br/>Blurr shoved his blaster into his subspace and turned fully to his family, just as Echo wailed and leapt into his arms, burying his face against Blurr’s intake. “You just didn’t want me to be the hero,” Blurr grumbled as he held his son close, spark finally starting to unclench.<br/><br/>“You’ll always be my hero,” Ricochet said with a raspy laugh, and Blurr was too relieved to be angry with him.<br/><br/>He kissed Ricochet, reassuring himself that his mate was alive, and held Echo close, venting with relief. Only then did he turn to face the whimpering mass who was Quicken, bleeding from multiple wounds, his face one of misery and disappointment.<br/><br/>“You… could be so much more,” Quicken burbled, trying and failing to get up as his left knee assembly went a direction it shouldn’t go. “You could. You could!”<br/><br/>“Shut up,” Ricochet snapped, and limped toward Quicken, striking him hard across the face, hard enough his optics went dark, and he collapsed like a sack of bolts.<br/><br/>“We can leave him here for the Enforcers,” Ricochet said as he dragged himself back to Blurr’s side and gestured to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”<br/><br/>Blurr nodded as he stroked Echo’s back, resting his chin on top of Echo’s head. He couldn’t remember ever being so afraid. “Can you make it?”<br/><br/>“Pfft. I’ve had worse.” Ricochet thumped his chestplate, and then winced as more fluid trickled from the wound in his opposite shoulder. “Fragger was playing with me. I kept making him angry to distract him.”<br/><br/>“He could have killed you.”<br/><br/>Ricochet wrapped an arm around Blurr’s waist, resting his head against Blurr’s. “Lucky he didn’t. Now let’s get out of here. If my audials are working right, I think I can hear sirens.”<br/><br/>Blurr tilted his head. He couldn’t hear a damn thing. But it wasn’t like he wanted to be in this place any longer. Not near Quicken’s unconscious slump, and not in this decaying echo of a former life.<br/><br/>He had all he needed in his arms right now.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>“They sure have a knack for attracting drama, don’t they?”<br/><br/>Prowl looked over his shoulder as Rodimus Prime approached, alone, without the guard he was supposed to keep on him, but ditched every chance he had, because he swore he didn’t need the protection. What was more odd was the lack of his Seeker shadow, as it had become common place to find Rodimus and Starscream within arms reach of one another.<br/><br/>If they thought they were being circumspect, well, Prowl had a moon he could sell them.<br/><br/>“To be fair, it is rarely either of their fault,” Prowl said as he stood a little straighter. He respected Rodimus, to a certain degree, and it was in his programming to let it show. “At least this time we have a criminal to take into custody, rather than a pockmarked corpse.”<br/><br/>He turned his attention back to the melee below, Enforcers scurrying around putting up caution signs and warning tape and holding back the crowd drawn by the presence of so many officials around what was technically a condemned building. Given that they’d been running Echo and Quicken’s faces on the daily news, Prowl wasn’t surprised it had turned into a media circus.<br/><br/>Quicken had already been taken away, first to the medical facilities on site, and then to holding to await his trial. He’d blubbered the entire time, swearing his actions had been for love, for admiration, and Prowl suspected his defense team would argue insanity. Prowl would be hard-pressed to argue otherwise, though he was of a mind it was no excuse.<br/><br/>“Well, that’ll reassure the public at least.” Rodimus folded his arms and watched the melee as well, but Prowl didn’t take his lack of babbling as comfort. He’d come here with something to say.<br/><br/>Below, Bluestreak held court as the officer in charge, directing mechs to their tasks with an efficiency to make Prowl proud. He’d already sent Ricochet and the family home, with Ratchet and Drift to see to their wounds. Ricochet insisted his multiple rifle shots were plate wounds at best, needing nothing more than a temp patch and some nanite spray.<br/><br/>Bluestreak’s level-headed leadership was nothing new to Prowl. He was always aware of Bluestreak’s capabilities. He simply needed his ward to realize them as well. No, it was Jazz who surprised Prowl. Jazz who had appeared from wherever he’d been sulking, and now stood at Bluestreak’s side, diligently playing second-string.<br/><br/>“Starscream wants Jazz.”<br/><br/>Prowl slanted a look at Rodimus. “I didn’t realize you two were in an open relationship.”<br/><br/>Rodimus rolled his optics. “That’s not what I meant.” He put his hands on his hips, and Prowl twitched with amusement. “Look, we both know Jazz walked away from working with you, just like we both know he’s bored to death. Starscream plans to make a bid for him.”<br/><br/>“And you’re telling me why?”<br/><br/>“It’s a courtesy. So you don’t pitch a fit when Jazz says yes.”<br/><br/>Prowl arched an orbital ridge. “You sound certain he’ll agree.”<br/><br/>Rodimus barked a laugh, and there were echoes of his former self in the amusement of it. “You must not know him very well if you think otherwise.” He shifted, gaze sliding back to the tableau above. “He plays civilian very well, but we both know he’s a hunter. He needs prey.”<br/><br/>“I can persuade him back.”<br/><br/>“You haven’t yet.” Rodimus pursed his lips and gave Prowl his full attention. “Look. Starscream’s taking him, and I’m not going to intervene. At the very least, we can get an optic on the inner workings of that side.”<br/><br/>“I would have thought pillow talk to cover that.”<br/><br/>Rodimus pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you weren’t so damn good at your job…” He sighed and waved a hand through the air. “You know what I mean. Don’t play word games with me. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”<br/><br/>Prowl folded his arms behind his back and turned to address Rodimus directly. It was only polite; he was their Prime after all. “Sliding Jazz under the radar in Decepticon leadership could be dangerous. Do you intend to monitor him yourself? Because as I recall, he’s not fond of either of us.”<br/><br/>“He’s pretty damn fond of Bluestreak.”<br/><br/>Prowl pressed his lips together. He paused to cycle a ventilation and tilted his head. “Are you suggesting I take advantage of my ward’s romantic relationship to get intel on the Decepticons?”<br/><br/>He had to admit. He hadn’t known Rodimus was this ruthless.<br/><br/>Prowl couldn't believe it. He was starting to like Rodimus Prime.<br/><br/>“Did I say that?” Rodimus tilted his head and grinned, sharp and cutting. “That’s not what I said. That’s not an order or a directive or anything. Why, Prowl, that would be unethical.” He winked.<br/><br/>The curiosity compelled him now. How did Rodimus and Starscream’s relationship even function? Was it real? Or were they playing each other?<br/><br/>Fascinating.<br/><br/>Prowl’s lips twitched and he looked away, lest his smile betray him. “I’ll see what I can do.”<br/><br/>“Good mech.” Rodimus clapped him on the shoulder and turned to go. “By the way, congrats on bagging Quicken. See what he has to say about that movement, too. Word on the street is he was one of them.”<br/><br/>“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”<br/><br/>Rodimus laughed.<br/><br/>Prowl ignored him and went back to observing. He’d get the full report after the fact, of course, but there was something to be said for watching the proceeding with his own optics.<br/><br/>Bluestreak, after all, deserved Prowl’s full attention.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>“Should we keep this or toss it?” Tether asked, holding out a crate full of what had to be pieces of Quicken’s shrine to Blurr’s greatness.<br/><br/>Bluestreak raised both orbital ridges. “You do realize that’s evidence, right? Why would we throw it out?”<br/><br/>Tether cycled his optics, and then at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh. Of course. Sorry, sir.” He ducked his head and scuttled away, and beside Bluestreak, Jazz gave a little chuckle.<br/><br/>“You know, you’re more like Prowl than ya think,” he said.<br/><br/>“I’ll take that as a compliment this time,” Bluestreak said as another mech ran up to him, offering a datapad which required his signature. He skimmed the contents and stamped his designation on it before the mech scurried away.<br/><br/>“You’re good at this, you know,” Jazz said in a softer tone, scooting closer, until their armor touched and his field was readily apparent -- warm with affection and awe. “It suits ya. Can’t believe I was such a jerk to think I should stand in the way of it.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak’s spark throbbed.<br/><br/>“You’re saying that kind of thing when you know good and well I can’t bend you over and kiss you,” Bluestreak murmured out of the corner of his mouth.<br/><br/>Jazz chuckled and squeezed his hand, almost too quick for anyone to see, and for Bluestreak’s sensors to register the warmth and pressure of it. “I’ll make it up to ya later.”<br/><br/>“You were a jerk,” Bluestreak murmured. “But I forgive you as long as you never do it again. I still want you, Jazz.”<br/><br/>Jazz’s field spiked with warmth. “Aww, Blue. Now you’re the one sayin’ slag when I can’t do nothing ‘bout it.”<br/><br/>Bluestreak looked at him with a grin. “You can make it up to me later, too. I have… hmm, some ideas already.”<br/><br/>“Mm. Can’t wait.” Jazz’s visor flashed in a wink. “But hey, you got an admirer. Did you see that?” He threw a thumb over his shoulder.<br/><br/>Bluestreak followed his direction and squinted in the distance, to where he could just barely make out the figure standing on a nearby rooftop. It was unmistakably Prowl. Bluestreak cycled his optics in surprise, and then wariness.<br/><br/>“Or maybe he’s checking up on me, making sure I know what I’m doing,” Bluestreak murmured.<br/><br/>“Nah. That ain’t it. I might’nt like Prowl, but I know one thing -- that mech trusts you like no one else. He’s watchin’ cause he’s proud.”<br/><br/>The thought filled Bluestreak with warmth. “Then I guess I better get back to work,” Bluestreak said, making it a point to pretend he hadn’t seen Prowl, though the joy bubbled up inside of him in little pockets of pride.<br/><br/>“Yeah, boss. You sure do,” Jazz said with another one of his special winks.<br/><br/>Bluestreak grinned.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~</p>
</div><p><br/><br/>Echo hadn’t wanted to go to bed, and Blurr couldn’t blame him, so he’d sat with his sparkling, reading him story after story, until exhaustion proved stronger than determination, and recharge pulled Echo under. Even then, Blurr lingered for several minutes more, soaking in his sparkling’s safety, tucking his covers around him, kissing his forehead, ensuring he rested easily and comfortably.<br/><br/>“Nothing will ever harm you while I’m around,” Blurr promised before he crept out of the room, leaving the door open and a nightlight emitting a soft glow, to chase the monsters away.<br/><br/>Only then did he go into the berthroom, where Ricochet was propped up on the berth in a decadent pile of pillows, his armor a patchwork of temp plating and static bandaging. He had a datapad in one hand, and the noise of some kind of show poured from the speakers, though he paused it as soon as Blurr entered the room.<br/><br/>“Bit didn’t want to go down, huh?” Ricochet asked as he set the datapad aside, and moved some pillows as well, making room for Blurr on the berth.<br/><br/>“Can you blame him?” Blurr asked as he accepted the space and pressed in close to Ricochet, soaking up his conjunx’s presence. He didn’t think he’d be able to forget the sight of the blaster pointed at his family for a long, long time.<br/><br/>“Nope.” Ricochet leaned in, pressing a kiss to the curve of Blurr’s jaw, though he winced as he did so. “I should’ve let you kill him.”<br/><br/>“Yeah. You should’ve.”<br/><br/>It took some effort, but Blurr shifted to straddle Ricochet instead, careful of his wounds. With his rounded abdomen, and the temporary plating, they were a mess, but Blurr wanted to be close, and this was the best he could do.<br/><br/>Ricochet grunted, his hands finding Blurr’s hips, their frames nestling together. “What’s this? Feeling a bit hot under the fairings, Speedy?”<br/><br/>“Shut up,” Blurr grumbled, and stole his lips for a kiss, their chassis colliding, pressing hard enough Blurr could feel the pulse of Ricochet’s spark through it. It was reassuring, that pulse.<br/><br/>Quicken hadn’t taken his family from him. Blurr had been quick enough. Despite it all, he’d been as fast as he needed to be when it mattered.<br/><br/>Ricochet chuckled against his lips, hands sweeping up and down Blurr’s back, his aft, his thighs, up to his booster mounts. “Yeah, I was scared, too,” he said, and the quiet admission made Blurr’s insides burn with affection.<br/><br/>“We gotta talk,” Blurr said, even though talking was the least of what he had on his mind. He couldn’t get close enough to Ricochet, needed to reassure himself that it had all came out okay.<br/><br/>“Sure. We can talk,” Ricochet murmured, but he cradled Blurr’s hips, pulled them closer, rocked up, and the mimicry of interfacing made Blurr’s lines burn with desire. “Right now?”<br/><br/>“Later?” Blurr muttered and grabbed Ricochet’s face, pulling him in for another searing kiss. Need throbbed through his lines, pulsed charge through his frame, his panel snicking aside without a moment’s thought.<br/><br/>Ricochet hummed against his mouth, but his hands remained oddly gentle, caressing and smoothing rather than gripping. He rocked up against Blurr, his motions stiff and uncoordinated, and Blurr realized much too late that Ricochet was likely still in pain.<br/><br/>No matter. He could work with this. Blurr, after all, was not unaccustomed to taking the lead.<br/><br/>He nipped Ricochet’s bottom lip and leaned back, hands on his conjunx’s shoulders. “You’re hurting,” he said, not a question, but a statement. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”<br/><br/>Something flashed in Ricochet’s visor, but his grin was fanged denta and hot desire. “S’that right?” he asked as he let himself fall into the comfort of the pillows, still somewhat propped but more comfortable. “To what do I owe the honor?”<br/><br/>“Don’t be an aft,” Blurr said as he ground down on Ricochet’s, his valve spattering his mate’s groin with lubricant. “Come on. Open up. Unless you don’t want me…?” He left the question dangling, flicked his glossa over his lips, pointedly cupped one hand around his abdomen, and Ricochet’s visor flared with hunger.<br/><br/>“Now who’s being an aft?” Ricochet grumbled, but he was smiling, and his panel opened, his spike emerging to brush against Blurr’s inner thigh, leaving a streak of prefluid behind.<br/><br/>Blurr sucked in a vent, rolling his hips, rocking along the length of Ricochet’s spike, but not quite taking him. Just savoring the sensation of Ricochet’s spike against his valve, his swollen pleats, occasionally brushing over the peak of his anterior nub. Sparks of pleasure licked through his array.<br/><br/>Blurr swallowed thickly, relaxing into the grip of Ricochet on his hips, supporting him as he worked himself again and again. He caught Ricochet’s visor, held his gaze, his hands sliding up the length of Ricochet’s arms.<br/><br/>“I’d have killed him for you. For Echo,” Blurr murmured before he canted his hips and caught the head of Ricochet’s spike, sinking onto him achingly slowly, lighting up every sensor node on the gradual slide down. “I would have pulled the trigger.”<br/><br/>Ricochet reached up, cupped his cheek, sweeping a thumb over it. “I know.” He rolled up as Blurr rocked down, taking him to the hilt, their frames notching together.<br/><br/>Blurr shivered. Ricochet groaned. A wave of charge swept over their frames.<br/><br/>“I probably should have,” Blurr said as he started to move, little rocks and circles of his hips, grinding Ricochet deep, over his ceiling node, sending sparks of pleasure dancing through his sensornet. “As a warning. To anyone else who thinks they can take my family from me.”<br/><br/>“Have I ever told you I love how ruthless you can be?” Ricochet said, but his vocals were a little breathless, his field hot and hungry where it crashed against Blurr’s. His hand slid down, between their frames, briefly cupping Blurr’s abdomen before it kept moving, until his thumb found and pressed against Blurr’s anterior node.<br/><br/>Blurr moaned, backstrut arching, tilting forward, catching himself on the pillows to either side of Ricochet’s shoulders, wary of the patched wounds. His knees dug into the mattress, the angle struck a node-cluster, and charge licked over his armor.<br/><br/>“There’s a reason I fell for you, my dangerous little Autobot,” Ricochet said, and the press of his thumb licked fire up Blurr’s spinal strut.<br/><br/>He lost his rhythm, caught it again, ground harder, taking Ricochet deeper. He chased his own pleasure, and knew he was dragging Ricochet with him by the caught vents, and the deepening color of his conjunx’s visor.<br/><br/>“Did you?” Blurr asked, teasing and not a bit serious. He’d doubted a lot of things, but he hadn’t had cause to doubt Ricochet’s feelings for him. “Fall for me, I mean. There are a lot of dangerous Autobots.”<br/><br/>“Mmm. But you’re the prettiest.” Ricochet’s teasing, too. He had to be. Because he licked his lips and thrust up at the perfect angle to make Blurr keen, teetering on the edge of overload. He panted, wishing the rise of his belly didn’t make it so difficult to kiss.<br/><br/>“Is that all? You fell for a pretty face?”<br/><br/>Ricochet’s engine rumbled, his field volcanic with need and wrapping around Blurr, his hips rising up to meet each of Blurr’s downward thrusts. “I fell for everything,” he murmured, like a little secret he didn’t want anyone to know, because being soft wasn’t in his repertoire, except when it was.<br/><br/>Ricochet’s thumb pressed in a hard, sharp circle and Blurr shattered, overloading around Ricochet’s spike, his world peppered with bright flashes of color as the ecstasy swept through his frame. He panted, light-headed from the pleasure, and fumbled his rhythm, trying to move, to take Ricochet with him.<br/><br/>Blurr’s valve spasmed and sparked, still riding the edge of his overload, his frame trembling. He kept moving, tugging Ricochet’s hand away from his sensitive anterior node to press a kiss to his palm, to lick his own lubricant from Ricochet’s fingers, holding his mate’s gaze as he did so.<br/><br/>Ricochet’s visor burned at him, sharp with hunger. “You are a menace,” he growled, but he bucked sharply, once, twice, and then the heat of his spill painted the inside of Blurr’s valve, provoking a second, smaller overload, which was no less pleasurable than the first.<br/><br/>Blurr chuckled and held out as long as he could, but the urge to kiss Ricochet overcame him, so he rose up, pressing their mouths together, as Ricochet slipped out of him. It was an awkward fumble around his abdomen, but they managed, and it was softer and sweeter than anyone could have ever given Ricochet credit.<br/><br/>It was a side of Ricochet he showed no one, and Blurr always treasured it, cradled it close to his spark.<br/><br/>“Mmm. That’s nice,” Ricochet murmured against his lips before he winced and shifted a little. “Would be better, maybe, if your knee wasn’t pressing on my left hip.”<br/><br/>Oops.<br/><br/>Blurr adjusted, cuddling into Ricochet’s right side, both of them reclined in a nest of pillows, as their frames ticked and cooled, though a wash would certainly be necessary. That, however, was a problem for the morning, because exhaustion threaded through Blurr’s lines, seeped into his cables and his struts.<br/><br/>“We really do need to talk,” Blurr said, at length.<br/><br/>“Yeah.” Ricochet grunted as he shifted, and all so he could cup a hand over Blurr’s abdomen, where Rebound continued to thrive in Blurr’s gestational tank. “I know you love our sparklings and me, but I also know you’re not completely happy.”<br/><br/>Blurr opened his mouth, but Ricochet shook his head and gave him a look, “Let me finish.” He cycled a ventilation. “You’re happy, but you miss things. Like racing.”<br/><br/>“I do,” Blurr admitted, though it pained him to do so. It felt like a failure on his part, to admit that there were things he wanted, which his family couldn’t provide. “I’m sorry.”<br/><br/>“Why?” Ricochet gave him a confused look. “You run. That’s what you do. I ain’t mad at ya for that. You wanna run, you should run. Me and the kiddos will be there to meet you at the finish line.”<br/><br/>Blurr ruminated on this, a delicate hope blossoming in the back of his spark. “It doesn’t mean I love my family any less.”<br/><br/>Ricochet sighed. “And that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said that.” He traced patterns over Blurr’s belly, nonsense syllables.<br/><br/>“I know.” Blurr pressed his mouth to Ricochet’s shoulder, pretending he couldn’t see all of the bandages wrapped around his mate’s armor. “I’m going to hire some more people. Bartenders. Even bouncers, too. Tomorrow even. I’ll make some calls.”<br/><br/>Ricochet hummed. “Good plan.” He gave Blurr’s abdomen a pat before holding his chin, tilting him up for a kiss and a quiet chuckle. “Look at us, being all mature about our issues. Bluestreak would be so proud.”<br/><br/>Blurr snorted. “Ah, yes. Bluestreak’s approval. That is the point of what I do after all.” He brushed a kiss over the curve of Ricochet’s jaw. “I love you. Just don’t tell anyone.”<br/><br/>“Love you, too, Zippy. And I’ll tell whoever I want.” Ricochet chuckled and nuzzled him before the lights dimmed, and Blurr realized he must have remotely logged into the system. “Now go to sleep. You and Rebound both need your rest.”<br/><br/>“And you don’t?” Blurr retorted, but he snuggled into Ricochet’s embrace all the same, giving in to the exhaustion tugging at him.<br/><br/>His family was safe.<br/><br/>That was all that mattered to him.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="entry-content">
  <p><br/>“You’re sure you want to do this?” Blurr asked, unable to hide the skepticism from his voice.</p>
  <p>“Absolutely!” Tailgate declared as he picked up the stool, moved it, set it back down, and climbed up onto it, all to see Blurr over the counter. “It’ll be fun. Cyclonus said I needed to get out more, and Whirl likes it here, so I thought, why not?”</p>
  <p>Why not indeed.</p>
  <p>Blurr glanced to the end of the counter, where Cyclonus had taken up a seat which used to be Ricochet’s before he started actually earning his keep. The former Decepticon had a single cube of engex, and a preemptive glower for anyone who might think to speak crossly to his adorable not-quite-minibot partner.</p>
  <p>Tailgate wasn’t the only bartender Blurr had hired, just the one who made him a little bit skeptical, but Whirl had asked, and Blurr had been unable to say no to Tailgate when he’d boldly strolled into New Maccadams and asked for a chance to prove himself.</p>
  <p>“That’s good enough for me,” Blurr said. “But you know, if you need any help... “</p>
  <p>“I have Riptide’s comm, and Bluestreak’s comm, and Jazz’s comm though I’m not going to use that one, and I have your comm.” Tailgate ticked each designation off on his fingers. “I used to help out at Swerve’s all the time, you know. I’ve done this before.”</p>
  <p>“I remember. It’s just--”</p>
  <p>“Just that he’s attached to this bar and worries himself sick over it,” Ricochet said as he appeared out of nowhere, his hands resting on Blurr’s shoulders, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Blurr, are you harassing the new hires again?”</p>
  <p>Blurr rolled his optics and dipped out from under Ricochet’s touch. “It’s not harassment,” he said, just as a deep, pulsing ache ripped through his chassis. He paused, hands going to his abdomen, as the fluttering started within him.</p>
  <p>He knew this sensation.</p>
  <p>“Frag,” Blurr said.</p>
  <p>“What is it?” Ricochet asked, but there was excitement in his field, as though he’d already guessed the cause of Blurr’s exclamation.</p>
  <p>“Ain’t it obvious?” Whirl laughed from the doorway, arms waving in the air. “Blurr’s going into labor. That kid of yours is on the way.”</p>
  <p>“He’s right,” Blurr said with a wince as the cables around his gestational tank contracted, trying to push it further south. “Call Jazz, have him pick up Echo and meet us at the medcenter.” He paused as another, sharper ripple stole his vents. “Rebound’s coming fast.”</p>
  <p>Ricochet grinned, his face stretched wide. He raised his hands, pumping his fists in the air, before clapping them. “All right, mechs. You know the drill. Whirl, watch the door. Tailgate, serve the drinks. Cyclonus, you do you.”</p>
  <p>Blurr sighed, but it was a relieved sort of sigh. He felt comfortable leaving New Maccadam’s in the trio’s hands, with help only a comm away. Besides, he’d have to get used to it. He did promise Ricochet he’d spend less time at the bar, and more time with the family, and this was a good first step.</p>
  <p>He headed for the door, knowing Ricochet would follow if he wanted to participate this time, but not wanting to delay any further. This was his least favorite part of the carrying process, and honestly, he was ready for it to be over. He was ready for Rebound to be in his arms and out of his gestational tank.</p>
  <p>“Good luck, boss,” Whirl said with a salute and a wink from his single optic, which never ceased looking strange. “We’ll hold down the fort.”</p>
  <p>“I really don’t want you to call me boss,” Blurr said on his way out the door, but Whirl laughed, and that was as good as admitting a weakness Whirl intended to keep exploiting.</p>
  <p>Blurr was going to be boss until the end of his days.</p>
  <p>“Hey, where are you going without me?” Ricochet demanded as he caught up to Blurr outside the door, his face pinched with irritation.</p>
  <p>“You were taking too long,” Blurr informed him as another contraction made him stagger, and Ricochet grabbed him, steadying him. Oh, Primus. Maybe they’d have to call someone to pick him up.</p>
  <p>Ricochet looked at him for a moment, and the next thing Blurr knew, he was being swept into Ricochet’s arms as though he weighed nothing.</p>
  <p>Well.</p>
  <p>He supposed that worked, too.</p>
  <p>“You’re doing the hard part,” he said, to Blurr’s unasked question. “This is the least I can do.”</p>
  <p>“I could get used to this,” Blurr said, and another cramp echoed through his abdomen, making him groan. “Ricochet, <em>hurry</em>.”</p>
  <p>Rebound was apparently tired of waiting.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Blurr, as always, had the worst timing.</p>
  <p>Ratchet's finger hovered over the holo-board, right over the button which would have signed him as off-duty for the day, which he was ten seconds from touching before the notice of Blurr's labor came through his comms line. Routed there by the on-duty medic who knew Ratchet was on-call for Blurr's inevitable labor.</p>
  <p>He sighed and dismissed the holo-board.</p>
  <p>Damn Racers and their inconvenient timing.</p>
  <p>He commed Drift, because his conjunx would be severely annoyed if he missed Rebound's birth, and Ratchet hadn't informed him.</p>
  <p>Well, soon enough he'd be celebrating the birth of their own sparkling.</p>
  <p>Ratchet grinned to himself, a little bubble of joy in his spark. Drift had carried the bulk of their excitement since they'd confirmed his sparking, but Ratchet had to admit, he was growing more and more excited as well.</p>
  <p>He hadn't expected to survive the war, now here he was with a conjunx and a sparkling on the way. He had a family.</p>
  <p>It was something of a miracle.</p>
  <p>Ratchet commed the on-call medic to direct Blurr to a private delivery room while Ratchet himself scrubbed up and gathered the necessary supplies, including the last extender he'd need to assist Blurr with his valve-birth. It wasn't going to be easy, but it wasn't impossible either.</p>
  <p>He made his way to the delivery room, supplies in hand, and braced himself for the likely event he'd have to banish Ricochet to the waiting room again. When he walked in, however, they were kissing. Because of course they were kissing.</p>
  <p>Ricochet had a hand on Blurr's abdomen, his other gently cupping Blurr's jaw, and they were kissing tenderly, like Ratchet had never seen before. He almost hated to interrupt, save that he heard the sharp intake, saw the ripple of tension across Blurr's frame, and felt the buzz of impending birth in the air.</p>
  <p>"All right," Ratchet said. "Let's get this one out before you decide to work on the third."</p>
  <p>They broke apart, neither of them bothering to look guilty.</p>
  <p>"Charming as ever, Ratchet," Ricochet drawled.</p>
  <p>Blurr, however, flinched and curled forward a little, his engine revving into a higher pitch. "Just two," he managed around a labored vent. "This is the last one."</p>
  <p>"Or three maybe," Ricochet said as Blurr grabbed his hand and squeezed, making him wince. "We'll talk later."</p>
  <p>Ratchet snorted and eyed Ricochet with speculation. "Are you going to behave this time?"</p>
  <p>Ricochet crossed his chassis with his other hand. "Cross my spark. I'm going to catch him, remember? First face Rebound is gonna see is mine."</p>
  <p>"Don't drop him," Blurr wheezed.</p>
  <p>"Frag you." Ricochet chuckled and pressed his forehead to Blurr's, a wide grin splitting his lips. "Carried you, didn't I? And not a single bump to the head."</p>
  <p>Ratchet resisted the urge to groan aloud. They could be sickening sometimes. Instead, he tossed a set of gloves. "All right. Enough flirting. Looks like Rebound's ready to get here sooner rather than later."</p>
  <p>Ricochet pressed a kiss to Blurr's forehead before he moved aside, making room for Ratchet to scan Blurr with every diagnostic he had at his disposal.</p>
  <p>"No matter what, I want them both to be okay," Ricochet said as he rested his hands on Blurr's knees and pinned Ratchet with a look. "Do whatever you gotta do, Doc. This is my family here."</p>
  <p>Ratchet wasn't offended. He'd seen enough nervous partners to know it wasn't personal. "You're in the best hands."</p>
  <p>"I'll be fine," Blurr said in an exasperated tone, but it petered off into a hiss as a visible contraction wracked his frame. "But you won't be if you don't let Ratchet do his job and get Rebound out."</p>
  <p>Ratchet chuckled and patted Blurr on the shoulder. "It's going to be fine."</p>
  <p>"I know it is." Blurr cycled a ventilation, his armor flaring to vent excess heat. "So let's do it already."</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p>"Unca Jazz!"</p>
  <p>Jazz grunted as Echo all but threw himself into Jazz's arms, flinging his arms around Jazz's neck for the biggest hug his little frame could manage. Jazz rocked back on his heels, but caught himself, standing and lifting Echo into his arms.</p>
  <p>"Hey, bitty-bot. Guess what?"</p>
  <p>"What?" Echo squeezed him tighter, strong enough to hold on and let himself dangle if Jazz let go.</p>
  <p>Which he didn't. He knew better than that.</p>
  <p>"You get to meet your little brother today," Jazz said as he swung Echo around to his hip, an easier place to carry him, and nodded his farewell to Echo's teacher. He and Bluestreak both were on the List.</p>
  <p>"Really?"</p>
  <p>"Really, really," Jazz said.</p>
  <p>Echo bounced in his arms, and Jazz grunted a little, trying to keep a hold of him. "Is that where we're going? To see my brother?"</p>
  <p>"Sure are."</p>
  <p>Bluestreak waited for them outside, looking soft and amused, and Echo's delight reached new bounds as he saw Bluestreak, instantly holding out his arms to be held. Traitorous fragger loved his Uncle Boo even more than Unca Jazz.</p>
  <p>"Boo! Boo! Guess what?" Echo said as Jazz grunted and handed him over, letting him clamber over Bluestreak like he was playground equipment.</p>
  <p>"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" Bluestreak asked as Echo clambered to sit on his shoulders, tucked behind Bluestreak's head with the arch of his sensory wings to keep him from falling.</p>
  <p>"I get to see my little brother today!" Echo said as he grasped Bluestreak's head once they started to move, heading with haste toward the medical center.</p>
  <p>Bluestreak exchanged an amused glance with Jazz and gasped theatrically. "Really?"</p>
  <p>"Yeah!"</p>
  <p>Jazz grinned as Echo started to babble, first about his new brother, then about some kid in his class he didn't really get along with, but he hadn't bit anyone today, so they could tell Daddy that and be proud of him. But okay he did bite Bell just a little, but it was Bell's fault for putting his fingers near Echo's mouth, and not even Compute was mad at him.</p>
  <p>Bluestreak listened attentively, responding when appropriate. He was so good with Echo Jazz worried sometimes that he secretly harbored a desire for sparklings of his own, but he'd never gotten so much as a whiff of envy whenever they had to give Echo back to his parents.</p>
  <p>They were good uncles. Sparklings needed good uncles.</p>
  <p>They arrived at the medcenter long before Echo ran out of stories. Drift met them in the lobby, to Echo's infinite delight, and took them up to the waiting room where he'd had the foresight to acquire a small box of toys to distract Echo while they waited.</p>
  <p>"I know what you're thinking," Bluestreak murmured once they were sat in comfortable chairs, Echo on the floor in front of them, where he'd dumped out the entire box of toys to play with. Drift was down there with him, helping Echo line up all of the small cars.</p>
  <p>Jazz tilted his head. "Oh, yeah? What is it?"</p>
  <p>Bluestreak took his hand, gave it a squeeze. "I love Echo, and I'm sure I'll love Rebound, but I promise you, I don't want any of my own." He grinned. "My favorite part of having them is when I get to give them back."</p>
  <p>"I guess you might have a clue then." Jazz squeezed Bluestreak's hand.</p>
  <p>"I'd like to think I know you pretty well... recent events notwithstanding," Bluestreak said.</p>
  <p>Shame burned Jazz's cheeks. He cycled his vocalizer to try and chase it away. He'd apologized; they'd talked. They'd continue to talk. He was reasonably sure Bluestreak had forgiven him. Jazz wasn't sure if he'd forgiven himself.</p>
  <p>"I'm going to take the job," Jazz said, leaning in closer and lowering his voice so Drift couldn't hear, not that Drift wasn't fully engrossed. "It'll feel weird to work with Screamer, but I think it's what I need to do."</p>
  <p>"Good." Bluestreak pulled their joined hands up, brushing a kiss over Jazz's knuckles. "Though I think if you don't work a two-week notice for Blurr, he will rip your spark out."</p>
  <p>Jazz laughed. "Yeah, and then Ricochet would finish me off."</p>
  <p>As if summoned, the door opposite opened and Ricochet emerged, cradling a meshblanket swaddled bundle in his arms. His field glowed with pride and happiness, and the big grin on his face reflected that.</p>
  <p>"Daddy!" Echo was the first to react, scrambling to his feet, knocking over his tower of blocks, and nearly smacking Drift in the face as he ran to greet his sire.</p>
  <p>Ricochet crouched to meet him, wrapping his free arm over Echo's shoulders and planting a kiss on his forehead. "There's my bitlet. You ready to meet your little brother?"</p>
  <p>"I am. And protect him, too. Just like you said." Echo beamed.</p>
  <p>"That's right." Ricochet pinched his cheek. "Okay, sit down and be very still."</p>
  <p>It never ceased to amaze Jazz just how good his brother was his sparkling. How tender and caring, and how much he actually enjoyed it.</p>
  <p>Echo obeyed and Ricochet very, very carefully lay the wrapped bundle in his son's lap, though he kept a hand hovering nearby, ready to react. The other peeled back the blanket, and Echo's optics shone with affection.</p>
  <p>"This is your little brother, Rebound," Ricochet said.</p>
  <p>"He's so little," Echo said, and rested a single finger on Rebound's cheek.</p>
  <p>Ricochet chuckled. "He'll get bigger. Just like you." He playfully tapped Echo's nasal ridge.</p>
  <p>Echo giggled.</p>
  <p>Ricochet looked up at the rest of them then, the joy still shining in his visor. "Well, Jazz. Blue. Aren't you going to come over here and greet your godling?"</p>
  <p>Jazz went still. Bluestreak did, too.</p>
  <p>"What?" Jazz asked. He was on his feet before he made the conscious decision to stand, and ended up tugging Bluestreak with him, their fingers locked in an iron grip.</p>
  <p>Ricochet smirked and stood up, stepping around Echo who was now under the watchful optic of Drift who looked at Echo and Rebound with affection and envy. Drift even had a hand on his own abdomen, as though imagining himself sparked.</p>
  <p>"Drift and Ratchet are Echo's godsire, but I want you two to be Rebound's," Ricochet said. "Blurr agrees."</p>
  <p>Jazz's mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words. He exchanged a glance with Bluestreak, whose optics were as wide and surprised as his own.</p>
  <p>"Well?" Ricochet prompted.</p>
  <p>"Um," Bluestreak said.</p>
  <p>"We, uh..." Jazz flushed with panic as he looked at the small bundle cradled protectively by Echo. It seemed like a huge responsibility, so huge he hadn't even been upset when they'd asked Drift and Ratchet to be Echo's godsire.</p>
  <p>Bluestreak squeezed his hand and added a reassuring pulse of his energy field. "We accept," he said. "That's what family is for, right?"</p>
  <p>"Right," Jazz said, and nodded. "It's an honor."</p>
  <p>"You sure?" Ricochet cocked his head, then turned and scooped his sparklings from the floor, Rebound tucked into the crook of one elbow while he caught Echo up on his hip. "Cause you don't sound sure." The bundle of Rebound squeaked in protest.</p>
  <p>"You took us by surprise is all," Jazz said.</p>
  <p>"We figured you'd ask Drift again," Bluestreak said.</p>
  <p>"Yes, we figured that, too," Drift added, a bit of a grump on his face as he rose from the floor, pretending to dust off his knees. "We aren't good enough anymore?"</p>
  <p>Ricochet rolled his optics behind his visor, the light shifting in a familiar pattern. "Don't get greedy." He looked at Bluestreak then, a note of seriousness in his tone. "You were there for my family when it mattered. That's why. If you're not comfortable, fine, we'll go with the sparkling thief back there, but we mean to offer it to you first."</p>
  <p>"I'm sure," Bluestreak said, and he took a step forward, pinching Echo's cheek before looking at Rebound, who chose that moment to yawn quite adorably.</p>
  <p>Damn, but Jazz had some cute nephews. They were going to be sparkbreakers some day, he was sure of it.</p>
  <p>Bluestreak smiled and looked back at Jazz, who inclined his head. "We're both sure," Bluestreak said.</p>
  <p>"Glad to hear it." Ricochet jostled his two sparklings. "Now I gotta get these to Blurr before he has a spark attack, but we'll talk more later. At the party." He turned to go.</p>
  <p>Jazz's forehead furrowed. "What party?"</p>
  <p>"The party Rebound's godsires are going to throw to welcome him home," Ricochet threw over his shoulder, and then he was gone, through the doors, off to join Blurr in what Jazz assumed was the recovery room, leaving Bluestreak to stare at him agape, and Drift to laugh.</p>
  <p>Jazz knew there had to be a catch.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>~</p>
  </div>
  <p>There was a party.</p>
  <p>It was a good party.</p>
  <p>Ricochet had to hand it to them -- Bluestreak and Jazz had definitely come through. They'd turned New Maccadam's from a somewhat dive of a bar, to a brightly colored place filled with balloons and streamers and an endless playlist of nauseating pop music which had to be Jazz's idea of revenge.</p>
  <p>There was a table piled high with nothing but sweet treats, and another table with rows upon rows of flavored energon cubes, their bright hues a cheerful accent to the rest of the explosion of color.</p>
  <p>It’s a bit nauseating, really. Ricochet was absolutely certain this was a form of revenge on his brother’s part.</p>
  <p>Still.</p>
  <p>Blurr was happy, and their attendees were having a great time. Ricochet hadn’t seen either of his sparklings in the last ten minutes, lost to whomever wanted to dote on them next, leaving Ricochet to freely cuddle his mate in the corner booth.</p>
  <p>“We better enjoy this while we can,” Ricochet murmured into Blurr’s audial, his arm slung over Blurr’s shoulder, tucking his Racer against his frame. “We’re going to be exhausted from now until forever with two bitlets underfoot.”</p>
  <p>“If you had it your way, there’d be three,” Blurr grumbled.</p>
  <p>Ricochet chuckled and brushed his mouth over the curve of Blurr’s cheek. “Maybe when they’re older I can convince you... ?”</p>
  <p>“Not likely.”</p>
  <p>Well, he’d said he didn’t want a second either, but there Rebound was, tucked safely in the crook of Whirl’s arm. Once upon a time, Ricochet wouldn’t have believed any of his sparklings safe around the notorious Wrecker, but the only one more tender than Whirl was Drift. More remarkable was how comfortable Rebound seemed to be around Whirl. There wasn’t so much as a peep or a cry from the newborn.</p>
  <p>And judging from the way Cyclonus and Tailgate were both eying their very happy third, perhaps they would be having a sparkling in their future as well.</p>
  <p>“We’ll see,” Ricochet said.</p>
  <p>Blurr muttered something Ricochet probably wasn’t meant to hear, but he didn’t move except to snuggle closer and occasionally pick the best bits from the snack plate Ricochet had brought for him. He was still rather sore, and staying still and comfortable was high on his to-do list.</p>
  <p>Ah. So that’s where Echo went.</p>
  <p>Ricochet snorted a laugh as Jazz walked by, dancing to the music, Echo on his shoulders, laughing and holding tightly to Jazz’s sensory horns.</p>
  <p>“They’re okay?” Blurr asked.</p>
  <p>“You mean my brother and Bluestreak?”</p>
  <p>“Who else?”</p>
  <p>Ricochet settled into the booth and lightly dragged his fingers over Blurr’s opposite shoulder. He couldn’t resist touching his mate, and this was as much as he could get away with at the moment.</p>
  <p>“They’ll be fine,” Ricochet answered. He was sure of it. They’d both learned their lesson, and last Ricochet heard, Jazz was working for Starscream and the Decepticons-who-were. It was a job guaranteed to keep Jazz occupied, entertained, and less inclined to spend his time feeling bitter toward Prowl.</p>
  <p>“Good,” Blurr said, just as the music abruptly cut off with a screech of static, making them both cringe.</p>
  <p>“Sorry, sorry!” Drift said, raising his hands and his voice to be heard above the confused murmurings. “I just need to borrow your attention for a moment.”</p>
  <p>“No one told me we’d have to listen to a speech!” Whirl said from across the room, and in his arms, Rebound gurgled a happy agreement. Seriously. Brat had no fear.</p>
  <p>Drift shook his head as Ratchet joined him, his expression one of someone who was trying to hold on to a grump and failing at him. “No speech, just an announcement, if you don’t mind me stealing a bit of the thunder.”</p>
  <p>“Steal it,” Blurr said as he popped a sweet treat into his mouth, fatigue starting to wear on him. He was far from recovered.</p>
  <p>Soft laughter bubbled up from the crowd. Drift beamed at them, and it was pretty clear whatever he had to say involved Ratchet, too, because he stood behind his conjunx, his hands on Drift’s shoulders as if supporting him.</p>
  <p>“Thank you for sharing the stage,” Drift said, and noisily cycled his vocalizer. “So we’re here to celebrate Rebound’s arrival, and that’s all well and good, but it’s a celebration and I believe that means it’s the best time for some good news.”</p>
  <p>“Get on with it!” Someone else shouted, and it took Ricochet a second to track the voice to another Wrecker at the other side of the room, though he couldn’t recall the name at the moment.</p>
  <p>Ratchet, however, glared in that mech’s general direction, and a polite silence immediately fell. People even stopped shifting and twitching and making accidental noise. Now that was some power.</p>
  <p>Drift reached up and laid a hand over Ratchet’s on his shoulder. “Good point. I’ll just say it then.” He drew in a deep vent and said, “I’m sparked. We’re sparked. We’re having a femme.”</p>
  <p>The silence lingered for a moment until it was broken by an applause which was almost deafening. Drift grinned so wide, his usually carefully concealed sharp denta were on full display, and if it were possible for a mech to spontaneous combust with happiness, Ricochet thought Drift might do it then and there.</p>
  <p>Ratchet, for his part, looked happy as well, though not quite to the same extent as Drift, whose other hand was now resting over his abdomen, where there was not, and probably wouldn’t be, evidence of the sparkling in his gestational tank. He was built a bit better to carry one than Blurr, after all.</p>
  <p>“It’s about time!” Whirl shouted, loud enough to be heard, and laughter followed in the wake of it, even as mechs surged toward Drift, offering congratulations. The music started up again, just as cheerful and nauseating as before.</p>
  <p>"Huh," Ricochet said. "Well, good for them. I have to agree with Whirl. It's about time."</p>
  <p>Blurr sighed. "Yeah, but... there goes our babysitter. And one of my bartenders. I'm going to have to hire another one." He groaned and shoved a handful of treats into his mouth. "Should've just given him Echo."</p>
  <p>"Hey now!"</p>
  <p>"I'm just joking." Blurr cracked a smile, and despite the fatigue, it was a genuine one. "I'd never give up one of ours. Not even to Drift." He paused, optics tracking the crowd. "Or Whirl for that matter. Do you think we're getting Rebound back?"</p>
  <p>Ricochet laughed and patted Blurr's knee. "I'll go get him." He stood up and stretched, preparing to plunge into the crowd.</p>
  <p>"Get Echo, too," Blurr said. "Don't want him to forget who his parents are."</p>
  <p>"Yes, dear."</p>
  <p>Ricochet grinned. It was the same as Blurr admitting his missed his sparklings. He loved them. He just had a harder time showing it. But he'd have killed Quicken sure enough, without a moment's thought, and for Ricochet, if that wasn't an act of love, what was?</p>
  <p>He kissed Blurr on the cheek. "Be right back."</p>
  <p>"If you're lucky, I won't have eaten all of these when you do," Blurr said, and his smile was sharp and playful and promising.</p>
  <p>Ricochet's insides curled with heat. Blurr wasn't in much shape for a good 'face, but there were ways around that. He could be creative.</p>
  <p>"You're such a brat," Ricochet said, and Blurr laughed, lounging back in the booth like a king upon his throne.</p>
  <p>"Fetch my children, Ricochet," he said.</p>
  <p>"Yes, dear.”</p>
  <p>He found Echo with relative ease, and Jazz surrendered him willingly. Not that he had a choice because Echo leapt for Rebound’s arms with a gleeful cry of “Papa!”</p>
  <p>“Hey, bitlet. Having fun with your uncle?” Ricochet pulled him for a nuzzle, and Echo grabbed his face to hold him in place. He was strong already and would only get stronger.</p>
  <p>“Always,” Echo chirped and clambered into place on Ricochet’s shoulder, holding his head to keep his balance. He liked to be tall, to see as much as he could. “Where’s Bon?”</p>
  <p>“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Ricochet kept one hand on Echo so he didn’t fall. “You see Whirl anywhere, kiddo?”</p>
  <p>“Uuuuum.” Echo squirmed and twisted all around before he pointed excitedly to the far corner. “He’s over there, Papa. With ‘Gate and Horny!”</p>
  <p>Ricochet barked a laugh. “Please tell me ya call Cyclonus that to his face. That’s priceless. You’re my son all right.” He gave Echo a little bounce and plunged back into the crowd, accepting congratulations and back pats along the way.</p>
  <p>Whirl and his – friends? Mates? Partners? Ricochet still wasn’t sure what to call them – all sat around the table, and Rebound was asnooze in his arms as though Whirl was nothing to be afraid of. Damn but he was a cute kid.</p>
  <p>He and Blurr made the prettiest sparklings. Rebound resembled Blurr more than Echo did, though his paint leaned more toward shades of red. He had Blurr’s optics, too.</p>
  <p>“I think that belongs to me,” Ricochet said as he strutted up and pointed to the bundle in Whirl’s arms. “Ask Cyclonus here if you want your own.”</p>
  <p>“Don’t think I haven’t.” Whirl stood and the careful transfer of newborn sparkling began. Whirl had a surprisingly delicate touch. “Give me time.”</p>
  <p>“It will take some convincing,” Cyclonus said in his usual dour tone, though his optics brightened a little as he watched Rebound stir in Ricochet’s arms.</p>
  <p>Tailgate pouted as he cupped his engex. “Look, it’s not my fault I don’t think we’re ready yet. It’s a big responsibility!”</p>
  <p>“Honestly, it can’t be much different than caring for Whirl,” Cyclonus said.</p>
  <p>“Oy! I resemble that remark!”</p>
  <p>Ricochet left them to their bickering and slipped back into the crowd. Rebound started to squirm then, making noises of dissatisfaction, and it seemed to clear the path for him. Hah. Mechs might’ve been here to welcome Rebound, but no one wanted to listen to a wailing infant.</p>
  <p>“He wants Mama,” Echo said, still gripping Ricochet’s head as the table finally came into view, Blurr guiltily licking his fingers clean as many, many of the treats were gone from the tray.</p>
  <p>“Sure does,” Ricochet agreed, and when he slid into the booth next to Blurr, he said as much, transferring the little bundle into his mate’s arms. “Think he’s hungry.”</p>
  <p>“You’re carrying the energon he needs, too,” Blurr muttered, but he was all smiles as he took Rebound into his arms and juggled the infant energon out of subspace. “Come on, bitlet. I’ll bet all this excitement is getting to you, huh?”</p>
  <p>Echo clambered down into Ricochet’s lap and leaned eagerly over his arm, watching Blurr feed his ‘Bon.’ As much as he’d fussed about Rebound’s arrival, he’d suddenly become thrilled about being an older brother as soon as they were introduced.</p>
  <p>Ricochet had such good kids. He was proud of Echo.</p>
  <p>“He’s so cute,” Ricochet said as he stroked Rebound’s cheek, the sparkling greedily sucking down the energon. “How did we get so lucky to wind up with two fragging cute sparklings?”</p>
  <p>“You were lucky to end up with me for a carrier,” Blurr said as he flicked a smug glance at Ricochet. “We both know where they got their looks from.”</p>
  <p>Ricochet held his own chassis. “Ouch, Zippy. That’s a shot straight to the spark.”</p>
  <p>“He’s really cute, Mama,” Echo said. “When will he be big enough to play with me?”</p>
  <p>“Not for a while yet, Echo,” Ricochet answered, bending down to plant a kiss on Echo’s forehead. “You’ve got five years of growing on him. You just gotta be patient.”</p>
  <p>Echo draped himself over Ricochet’s arm like a limp noodle. “Aww. I’m tired of bein’ patient,” he said. “You always say be patient.”</p>
  <p>“Well, I can’t make time go any faster, kiddo.” Ricochet caught Blurr’s gaze and grinned, his mate subtly rolling his optics as he continued to feed Rebound, occasionally wiping away drops of escaping energon.</p>
  <p>Much like Echo, Rebound was a messy eater.</p>
  <p>“You said you could do anything,” Echo pointed out, looking accusingly over his shoulder at Ricochet.</p>
  <p>“He’s got you there.” Blurr laughed. “You did say that. I remember. I was there.”</p>
  <p>“Fair point, little bit. I’ll see what I can do, but until then...” Ricochet rubbed Echo’s back before leaping into attack mode. “It’s tickle time!”</p>
  <p>Echo’s shrieking laughter caused quite a few nearby mechs to cringe and skitter away, as Echo rolled in Ricochet’s lap, trying to avoid Papa’s nimble fingers.</p>
  <p>Rebound spat out the end of the bottle and gave them all a mulish glare as though the noise offended him as well. Definitely Blurr’s kid, that one. He also looked two short vents from starting to wail, but Blurr popped the bottle back into his mouth, and Rebound started sucking it like a champ.</p>
  <p>Crisis averted.</p>
  <p>This was Ricochet’s family, perfect in their imperfections, adorable in their faults, and he loved them with every pulse of his spark.</p>
  <p>So he leaned over and kissed Blurr – chaste because of the crowd and the kiddos – before he went back to mercilessly tickling Echo while Blurr fed Rebound, and the rest of their family and friends celebrated around them.</p>
  <p>Ricochet couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.</p>
  <p></p>
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    <p>The End</p>
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